


The Greatest Thing You'll Ever Learn

by Herbert_Holmes



Category: Moulin Rouge! (2001), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Absinthe, F/F, Fluff and Angst, I Don't Even Know, It’s finally done, Not a musical, Really Gay and Ridiculous, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 38,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23812825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herbert_Holmes/pseuds/Herbert_Holmes
Summary: Deep Space Nine + Moulin Rouge.Kira Nerys is a penniless writer come to Paris in the final year of the 19th century. Running from a repressive home life and eager to embrace the colourful freedom of the Bohemian revolution, she becomes swept up in the frantic race toward modernity happening in the Moulin Rouge, Paris' most modern public venue. There, she meets the sensational Jadzia Dax, a courtesan and performer whose future seems tied up with the arrival of a sneering Duke. Falling into a tempestuous affair, Nerys and Jadzia must hide their love lest it threaten the success of the Moulin Rouge whose owner, Quark, is struggling to recoup the excesses of his sizeable investments.(I'm only writing this because quarantine is making me crazy and I need an outlet.)
Relationships: Jadzia Dax/Kira Nerys, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 32
Kudos: 21





	1. Come What May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a despondent writer thinks over her life choices and ruminates on things she has lost.

Paris, 1900

The writer wasn't sure why she was still in this room. The bed smelled sour and dusty, more a home for rats and roaches than as a place to sleep. She reached down and began picking up the scattered pages that littered the floor, the paper feathery as mummy skin. Some were abandoned scenes from the folly that had been _Spectacular Spectacular_ , some had been embarrassing attempts at love poetry that thankfully had never made it to the hands of their intended, and some were the aborted attempts to tell the story she so desperately wanted to tell, the story she needed to tell if she was ever going to gather up the courage to move and leave all of this behind.

Leaving Paris would be easy enough. Her parents would be glad to have her back, grateful that she was traumatized by her experiences in the sinful city. They were probably already prepared to pull her back into their restrictive world, undo the damage she'd suffered at the hands of bohemian ideals and free thinking people and set her on a new course, a safe course that ended in a loveless marriage-- _to a man_ , she thought, with a sob of regret--and a house full of children she would be expected to raise to be as backward and repressed as she was supposed to be. And no matter how much she complained or tried to forge a new life for herself, a life where she could be herself, the walls of expectation would eventually close around her until she couldn't breathe.

The writer had two choices. She could stay where she was, a convenient tomb happy to house her dried corpse for all eternity. Her last view would be the darkened, abandoned blades of the windmill down the alleyway, formerly a beacon of fun and wild abandon, now a grave marker to more than a failed business. Her other option would be to return to another kind of tomb, become an automaton, surrendering freedom in favour of tedious safety. 

When she had arrived in Paris, her idealistic visions of light and freedom were a new concept she was desperately trying to accept. But even so, no matter how much her eyes sparkled when she first saw the city, she still would have happily returned home. For as much as she wanted escape, she was terrified of uncertainty. But now, having seen the things she did, there was no way she would ever be happy in the shadow of her sepulchral parents. All they ever wanted out of life was for nothing to change ever. Change was a terrifying demonic figure waiting on the other side of a bridge, claws extended to rip into them should they ever step out of line.

But the writer had met Change. She had kissed Change. And she was irrevocably a different person as a result, unable to ever return to the person she had been nor the person her parents wanted her to be. She was now free-floating, untethered, and terribly fragile.

She rose, collecting more piles of papers from the rotting chaise longue in the corner. She had to make a decision quickly. Staying still was too appealing. But she knew if she did that, she'd never get up, and the landlady would find her body once the smell reached the other tenants through the paper-thin walls.

And so she did the only thing she could do. She gathered the un-crumpled pages into a loose sheaf and set them face down on the rickety writing desk. She couldn't afford new paper, but she had the backs of these relics of the previous year, as pristine as was possible. It's not like she'd ever give this to anyone. This was going to be a therapeutic lancing of a pulsing wound, not a tragic novel to be shared to everyone for gawk at. This was pain, and it needed to be expelled into the vile open air of this stinking city to join the toxic miasma of unwashed people and piles of refuse.

She inserted the first paper and clicked the typewriter's carriage return into place. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard for a moment and then settled into their familiar place above the round keys. A cleansing breath ruffled the paper and then Kira Nerys started writing.

_I first came to Paris one year ago..._


	2. Welcome to the Moulin Rouge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero arrives in Paris for the first time.

Paris, 1899

Kira Nerys stepped off the train, her only bag clutched like a talisman in both hands. The steam from the locomotive made her cough, but a few steps took her out into the open, and she beheld the city of Paris for the first time. It terrified her, but she refused to look back. Avoiding the judgmental looks of highborn, well-dressed ladies for her simple, out-of-style dress, Nerys strode from the train station as though it was seconds away from burning down behind her. The imagined wall of fire and destruction kept her steps constant.

She considered taking a cab, but the fees would seriously deplete her small cash reserve, so she decided to walk. The only hitch was she had no idea where she was going. She approached a tall, pale man with large sunken eyes who looked to be a police officer.

"Excuse me, would you be able to help me?"

The officer gave an amused chuckle. "Are you new to Paris?"

"I am, yes," Nerys said, feeling as though she had missed something important in his tone.

"You should find a way to hide that. Being new, I mean. Or you're going to find yourself in trouble very quickly." His voice had a growl to it, like that of an agitated beast, but there was a warmth to his eyes that Nerys liked. "As for your question, ask away."

Nerys gave a small smile. "I'm looking for a place to live, but I don't have much."

The officer harrumphed. "Don't we all?" He looked her over, his expression seeming almost sad for her. "You could try Montmartre. That's where I normally patrol. Dangerous, and full of unpleasant people, but the rent is cheap. I don't know if I'd recommend it to you, though. You wouldn't last a week, there. My best advice would be to go back where you came from. Leave this wretched city behind."

"You don't like it here?"

"I used to," the officer said, looking away, his tone growing less guarded. "Things are changing too fast for my liking. Too many new ideas and new distractions. Electricity? Never needed it before. Freedom of thought? Too messy. Thought we'd have learned our lesson during the last revolution."

Nerys blinked and recoiled at that, hearing the blunt edge of her father's voice in her memory. "Well I'm not afraid of those things," she said, terrified.

"Then you'll do well in Montmartre," the officer said with a wry smirk. "Filled with silly people all spouting their airy ideals. Truth, beauty, freedom, and love. Hmmph. We've had those before. Nobody ever respected what they had. And now they want more."

Nerys wished she could leave, but she didn't want to appear rude, so she shifted her typewriter case in her hands and straightened her shoulders. "Could you please tell me where Montmarte is?"

The officer hesitated for a moment, and then pointed in the direction of a distant hill. "Look for the windmills."

She thanked him and made her way into the crowd. The journey by foot took hours, but she was grateful for the street-level view of the city and its people. Quickly, she adjusted her posture, moving from blustering confidence to hunched anonymity. Nobody here drew any attention to themselves unless they had to, and Nerys quickly realized why. In shadows and around deserted corners lurked dangerous people with dark, sneering faces. She had very little, but she knew that she had to avoid meeting any faces. Dangerous men wouldn't want her typewriter. They'd be seeking something else. She was a woman alone in a big city. No matter how progressive the world was becoming, it was still a dark time to be a woman.

Montmartre soon hove into view, an archway looming like the entrance into hell itself. A babbling priest stood just outside the arch, begging people to stay away, speaking of sin and damnation. But Nerys saw past the grimy facade. The sound of music drifted her way, along with occasional explosions of laughter and shrieks of delight.

For the first time since arriving, she felt like she was where she was supposed to be. The police officer had painted a grim picture of a hellish underworld, but this was what she was looking forward to. It was a center of modernity, of innovation, of art, and the New, and her steps grew faster despite her exhaustion as she moved to explore her new home.

Once the rush of excitement faded and Nerys realized how tired she really was, she began to grow desperate. She hadn't planned on how she would find a place to stay, assuming something would become evident. But the sun was moving towards evening, and she needed to find something soon.

As if by divine providence, she rounded a corner at the moment that a vast building burst to life in an explosion of light. She had never seen so many lamps in one place. They adorned a large windmill like sparkling gemstones, stretching in long necklace-like ropes to an attached building that looked like a lavish theatre. To the right was an imposing Gothic tower and between them stood a vast, elaborately decorated elephant who looked to have a lit room within. The whole thing had the quality of fairyland, a magical otherworld not meant for mortal eyes. Her eyes drifted to the vast marquee adorning the crimson windmill: The Moulin Rouge. Music and laughter drifted from the doors as they opened to invite in crowds of besuited men. Nerys wanted nothing more than to explore the fantastic building, but her feet ached and her arms were feeling the strain of lugging her typewriter across all of Paris.

First, she needed to find a boarding house. Then she could explore. And even as her eye fell on a grubby "room to let" sign in a dusty window, she found herself more excited that she would soon get to learn the mystery of the bedazzling Moulin Rouge.


	3. The Children of the Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero encounters an unusual group of individuals.

Nerys didn't have any time to visit the Moulin Rouge for the next few weeks. She'd spent most of her money paying for the small room, and after that, her thoughts turned to the more pressing matter of establishing some kind of income. And that involved traipsing about Paris, picking up odd jobs when she could. Without references, she had to make do with occasional cleaning jobs in houses that were shortstaffed due to illness or emergency, but her employers were often impressed with her quiet nature and efficient work ethic, developed through years of toiling in workhouses from a young age. 

Everyone in her family worked. It began as a necessity a generation before, but became a hardened family ethos over time. And though Nerys had developed a starry-eyed desire for something more, the fixation with being busy was so rooted in her being that she was finding it hard to escape, even if it superseded her need to rest or eat. But hard as it was, it kept her alive, eventually establishing herself in a household whose former maid ran off one day without notice. As long as Nerys allowed the mistress of the house to complain whenever she wished about the "idle layabout" she had replaced, she had job security.

Eventually, she found herself falling into a comfortable routine. And that was when her desire to write resurfaced. And so, one evening, she settled down, inserted a page into her typewriter, and waited for inspiration to come.

It did not.

A rush of distant laughter gusted through her window and she looked up, wrinkling her nose at the city smells which curled in with the refreshing breeze. She could only see a part of the mysterious Moulin Rouge, but its presence was somewhat reassuring. The windmill wasn't lit up yet, but would be very soon. She had come to see the strange assemblage of buildings as a reassuring talisman, a piece of mysterious magic amid the drudgery of real life. As long as she didn't go inside, the mystery remained. She could continue to reassure herself that, someday, she would explore it, surrender to the magic it contained.

Her train of thought ended with a crash as an entire person fell through her ceiling in a shower of cheap plaster and rotting wood.

Nerys tried to say something, but all that came out was a surprised cry, words choked off by a rush of anger at the disruption and destruction of her ceiling. Heart hammering, she leaped from her chair, away from the dazed and dusty individual in front of her. There was a beat of stillness, punctuated by pieces of ceiling falling and a scramble of distant shouting, and then Nerys moved to ask the fallen individual what was going on, only to be interrupted as a diminutive man with sparkling intelligent eyes burst through her front door, a dashing smile brightening his face.

It took Nerys an extra second to realize that the man was dressed as a nun.

The fallen man on her floor groaned.

"What are you doing?" Nerys asked, unsure what else to do or say.

The fake nun extended a hand. "How do you do! My name is Nog."

"That's an unusual name," Nerys said, unsure whether to grasp the proffered hand.

"We're all unusual people!" Nog spread his hands in an expansive gesture, still grinning like a showman. "Names are so bourgeoise anyways, don't you think? Family legacies and all that. Who needs it? We are who we are!"

"We?" She turned to the fallen man. "Who's that?"

"That's Worf," Nog said with a wave of his hand that was both friendly and dismissive. "He's from Minsk," he added, as though that clarified anything.

"Oh," Nerys said, giving the blearly Worf another glance before joining him and helping the large man to his feet. He looked at once like a fierce Viking warrior and a polished stage actor, save for the plaster dust overlaying his dark skin.

"My thanks, madame," Worf said, adjusting his ponytail and brushing himself into a semblance of order before giving her a stiff and formal bow. 

Nerys turned to Nog before looking back at Worf. "Are you . . . hurt?"

Worf shuffled uncomfortably but then shook his head. "It is a childhood ailment. Nothing I can't endure."

Nerys turned to Nog, perplexed.

"It's the strangest thing," Nog said, bounding through the doorway with the enthusiasm of a Shakespearean comedian. "One minute he's awake. The next, bam! Unconscious as though someone hit him over the head."

"That sounds . . . awful."

"I endure it," Worf said, stoically.

"I must apologize, my dear," Nog said, moving to Worf's side to brush plaster dust off the taller man's arm. "We never asked your name."

"Nerys," she said, with a faint smile. "Kira Nerys. But Nerys is my given name."

Nog beamed at her. "Speaking of unusual names . . ."

Nerys shrugged. "An experiment. Trying to distance myself from my family. You know. Flipping my name felt like a good way to do that."

"I understand completely," Nog said. "What better way to embrace the Bohemian tenet of freedom than by releasing oneself from the shackles of our family's names." He approached her, took her hand, and planted a genteel kiss on the back of her hand. "I assure you we will respect your choices. We are the Children of the Revolution, after all!"

"The two of you?"

"All of us!"

At that, two more people popped through her door. One a lanky dark-haired man with soft brown eyes, the other somewhat thickset with questing skeptical eyes that missed nothing. She also noticed that the two were holding hands and couldn't help but smile at the bold modernity of it all.

"My dear Nog, are you quite finished down here?" the second man asked, his cultured voice impatient. "We have work to do!" 

The other man approached Worf, his steps confident despite the odd setting. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Mr. Bashir," Worf said, his tone curt.

"For god's sake, Worf, you can call me Julian."

"There is nothing wrong with appreciating a note of formality."

"You've told me."

Nog turned to Nerys again and indicated the new arrivals. "And this is Elim Garak, and the walking stick figure over there is Julian Bashir."

Julian shot Nog a look before turning to Nerys and shaking her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"You're English?" She asked.

"Somewhat," he said, with a smirk. "You have to meet my parents to really understand. Not that I'm suggesting you ever do that." His expression grew suddenly grave.

Nerys laughed. "Only if you promise never to meet my parents. I think we're even."

"I hate to break up this heartwarming display of camaraderie, but we have work to do, do we not?" Elim said, arms crossed.

"This is true," Nog said, taking in the whole room. "But I think we find ourselves in a unique situation. An opportunity, if you will."

"Oh?" Elim said, eyeing the shorter man with doubt. "Do enlighten me."

" _Spectacular Spectacular_ had hit a roadblock, yes?"

"I wouldn't say that." Elim drew himself up, but Nerys couldn't tell if the affrontery was feigned or genuine.

"But it's true! We haven't progressed past the opening scene!" Nog turned to Nerys. "Tell me, my dear. What do you do?"

Nerys shrugged. "I'm a mai . . ." she trailed off and saw her typewriter, sitting unused. "I'm a writer. A poet, actually."

Everyone's eyes widened. 

"That's perfect!" Nog said. "Would you come with us and see what we're working on?"

With barely a nod of assent, Nerys found herself dragged in a flurry upstairs into what looked to be the most chaotic small-scale stage she had ever seen. Hastily painted backdrops hung like drapery everywhere, some of which still had wet paint shining on them. Gleaming oil lamps hung in dangerous profusion amid more modern electrical devices that probably should have been lights, except all they did was spark explosively. Nerys eyed the painted fabric and oil lamps. One errant spark and the whole building would go up in an inferno of destruction.

Nog, however, seemed unconcerned, and directed Nerys' attention to the set. "It's a new modern production for the Moulin Rouge!"

Nerys' eyes widened. "The Moulin Rouge? You've been there?"

"Of course we have!" he said, enjoying her look of shock and admiration. "We're close personal friends of Monsieur Quark himself."

"And what is _Spectacular Spectacular_?"

"Something new and daring!" Nog said, gesturing to the ramshackle stage set around them.

Elim approached them. "Monsieur Quark has very nearly bankrupted himself transitioning the Moulin Rouge from gas light to electricity. He needs to recoup his significant investment."

"Who cares about all that?" Nog said with a dismissive smile. "Quark has grand ideas for a one-time stage spectacular that will draw in crowds of Paris' finest."

"A play?"

"Much more than that! It will be dance and music and theatre and spectacle. A work of art that pushes the limits of what's possible on the stage. It will be fantastic!"

Nerys found herself suddenly feeling awkward. She didn't know anything about the stage. It all felt so artificial to her. "I don't know how I can help."

"You're a poet! You have artistic vision!"

Having set a still bleary Worf up in a rickety chair off to the side, Julian approached them with some hastily scribbled script pages. "I don't know how to open this scene. We're having trouble with the lyrics."

"I'm the nun," Nog said proudly.

Nerys read them over. "It's...a little wordy."

"I told you," Elim said with a huff.

"Yes thank you, dear," Julian said to Elim in a familiar tone of voice. Elim gave him a knowing smile, but that didn't seem to help and Julian turned away in frustration.

Worf spoke up. "I do not think the nun should sing. She should stride to the top of that hill and declare her intentions in a fierce and noble voice."

"It's set in Switzerland, not Minsk, Worf."

"It would be better if it were Minsk."

The crowd turned to Nerys, eyes expectant. She stood up and wandered through the set, staring hopelessly at the pages, feeling like her own ideas of poetry were suddenly inadequate. She favoured minimalism and simplicity. A flower in a field. A lonely cloud. This was too big, too expansive. She turned to the sea of eager faces and shrugged. "I'm not sure. Give me a second to think."

After a few seconds, the Bohemians began arguing over what best to say, with some quibbling over the set, and Julian complaining that his score wasn't being appropriately showcased. And amid the chaos and the insanity, the words came to Kira and she scribbled them down in charcoal on the rumpled script sheets before thrusting them at Nog.

His eyes widened slowly as he read. "This is perfect!" he shouted, springing to his feet. "And we can have the nun twirl about like this!" He demonstrated the movement with enthusiastic abandon. "As she steps onto the stage, it will be iconic, I tell you!"

The script was passed about the room before ending in Elim's hands. He read, made an impressed sound, and then turned to the rest. "This has promise, but it's only one verse of one song. We have a long way to go."

"But we have a starting point!" Nog declared. "And that is something worth celebrating." 

Nerys frowned as he disappeared, returning with a dusty bottle, several glasses and a tray of sugar cubes.

Elim groaned. Julian slapped him on the shoulder. "Hush. Just be sure to have less this time around."

"What's that?" Nerys asked, feeling somewhat nervous.

"This," Nog said, his eyes twinkling, "is absinthe."

"Should I be worried?" Nerys asked Worf to her left.

"Yes," he said without hesitation, but then added, "but you should absolutely drink it."

And so Nerys threw caution to the wind and joined the Children of the Revolution in their toast.

She didn't remember much of the rest of the night.


	4. The Rhythm of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero reveals a scandalous secret to a confidant.

Kira Nerys made a personal vow to herself the next morning never to touch absinthe again. She soused her face with what little fresh water she had left before dressing for work in the wee hours of the morning. Walking to her mistress' house, she inhaled large gulps of fetid morning air. She was still growing accustomed to the unique, vaguely toxic smells of Paris, but the air helped her thoughts clear. She wished she had a barrel of water to drown herself in, but she would have to muddle through until she could secure a drink at work. 

The day moved achingly slow, but eventually she was finished in her duties and gratefully staggered out into the humid evening air. Thankfully, her mistress had left her to her work without much interruption, but it was her turn to polish the silver, and that was exhausting work. Her hands felt raw and cracked every time she flexed them, her fingers gently probing the reddened skin. All she wanted to do was sleep.

Unfortunately, Nog and Julian met her in the hallway outside her room's door.

"I can't--" she began, holding up her hands in protest.

"But you must join us tonight!" Nog insisted, spreading his hands in his trademark showman's stance. "We've arranged a meeting with Quark at the Moulin Rouge!"

No amount of interest could dissuade Nerys from a night of peaceful silence in her bed, alone. "I am very tired, and want nothing more than to sleep, right now."

"That's foolishness!" Nog beamed. "Why sleep early when Paris is coming alive outside?"

"I'm still recovering from the last time I came alive," Nerys muttered, suppressing a yawn.

"Last night was fairly tiring," Julian agreed, shooting Nerys a sympathetic look.

"You're both such dullards," Nog insisted with a joking laugh. "Very well. I think Quark will be able to reschedule for tomorrow, but I won't accept no for an answer when I come for you tomorrow!"

"You have yourself a deal," Nerys said, relieved.

As Nog turned to leave, Julian took a step towards Nerys. "I actually did want to discuss the music for  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ with you, if that were possible."

Nerys deflated. "Can't it wait?"

"Monsieur Quark wishes to hear some samples at our meeting, and I wish to take advantage of the extra day. I'm afraid I'm not terribly confident in my own abilities as of yet."

Nerys wanted nothing more than to shove him out into the hallway and pull blankets over the windows, but his expression was so earnest and hopeful that she couldn't refuse him. "Alright," she sighed. "But only for a short while. I really am tired."

Julian grinned broadly. "Thank you. I don't have your talent."

Kira waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not talented. I just got lucky. I said I was a poet, but I've never had anything appear in any of the papers."

"You don't need publication to be a real poet," Julian replied, as shocked as if she'd said something truly offensive.

Nerys smiled at his Bohemian idealism. "Now how come it's easy for you to say that to me but not yourself?"

Julian stopped short at that, his expression growing sheepish. "You've got me there, I suppose. But all you need is a piece of paper and a pen. I can't ever hear what I write." He looked around. "I don't suppose you have a spare orchestra lying about, do you?"

Kira grabbed a blanket to drape over her shoulders and settled down in the room's single chair, offering him the side of the bed. "You could always sing the parts."

"Sing?" he said. "How strange would that be I just burst into song here? Your neighbours would riot. Besides, I think I'd have better luck finding a spare orchestra."

"Well, then talk me through it," she said. "Describe what you've got and how you want the audience to feel."

"I suppose I can do that." Drew a loose sheaf of paper from a back pocket and unfolded it. "I like the idea of a quiet beginning, perhaps distant horns leading into some decorative woodwinds, fluttering along like songbirds joining the rush of a steady river." He hummed a five note fanfare, conducting with one hand before suddenly stopping and giving her a sheepish look.

"Why'd you stop?"

"Elim said the horn motif is too sentimental." He shrugged. "I don't mind it, but I wonder if he's right."

"Do you trust his judgment?" Nerys asked, noticing a tension that had crept into the room at the mention of Mister Garak's first name.

"Of course," Julian answered, averting his eyes.

"You love him, don't you?"

Julian's eyes fixed on Nerys suddenly, a flicker of fear showing behind his gaze before he gained control over himself and nodded silently.

Nerys took a deep breath and spoke carefully, as she would to a spooked cat. "I may be new to this Bohemian world, but that doesn't mean I haven't always wished to look forward. What's that you quote? 'Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and Love?' Those seem to mean something different to each person who hears them." She shifted in her chair, the old wood creaking beneath her. "I know you probably can't embrace the kind of truth you wish you could, but I have a confession. I'm in the same boat."

Julian's eyes widened. "You?"

"I've always known that I was different. The poetry I write has always been so stilted and simplistic. For a while, I just assumed that I was a minimalist, but I've come to realize that it was stilted because my heart has been locked up tight in an iron cage inside my chest."

"I know exactly how you feel," Julian said, his narrow shoulders relaxing. And then he smiled suddenly. "I don't know if I'm really much of a true Bohemian revolutionary, but I do know that I can be absolutely myself around them. And that's a rare gift."

"That makes me happy to hear," Nerys said. "Even so, I would ask you to keep this to yourself for now. I don't know how ready I am to expose such secrets to the world. Nog has an enthusiastic abandon about him that I'm still getting used to."

Julian nodded. "That he does." He cleared his throat. "Your secret is safe with me. I swear it."

They returned to the subject of music and Nerys convinced Julian to keep the horn fanfare motif. They made it up until the unnamed nun was to begin her song before tiredness overtook Nerys.

"We can continue this later," she yawned as she led him to the door. "But I think you're heading in a great direction as you are. Stop worrying."

He thanked her and hopped off like an eager cricket.

Nerys didn't really remember going to bed, but soon enough, she was buried under thin blankets, looking at the window. A corner of the blanket she had tacked up as a curtain had fallen away, revealing a glittering corner of the Moulin Rouge's titular windmill as it beckoned the upper crust of Paris through its doors. The motion was hypnotic, and as she drifted toward sleep, she thought of her confession to Julian. She felt more than a little silly offering him any kind of advice. She wasn't really a true Bohemian revolutionary, either. She believed in Truth, Beauty, and Freedom, but in the way one dreams of rare vintages of wine one will never be able to taste. They were distant ideals, worthy, but impractical. But Love? She'd never been in love. It was as foreign a concept to her as wealth. 

Her eyes closed as her mind circulated over her own thoughts of love. Childish fancies would no doubt fade with time. After all, where in the unkind streets of Paris would Nerys ever find that kind of love? It was forbidden and dangerous, and not something that someone like her should ever worry about.

She drifted off to sleep, content with how her life was at present.


	5. Truth, Beauty, Freedom, Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero adopts a disguise.

The others were giddy as they prepared for their night at the Moulin Rouge, each of them producing shockingly respectable suits out of seemingly nowhere. Nerys wanted to ask why they dressed in such chaotic garb, but had slick, modern evening wear to hand, but gave up. It just added to the Bohemian magic of this whole world. The group hummed, but it was the normal kind of excitement, the everyday anticipation for an enjoyable evening. Nerys was, on the other hand, vibrating at a frequency somewhere between terror and rapturous wonder. Perhaps she had built up the Moulin Rouge too much in her mind, but she couldn't help wondering if she would be disappointed. What if it was merely ordinary? What if the decorations were shabby and the people plain? What if it was just a place for dull people to take in a few simple diversions?

As Julian and Garak joined them, Nerys began to grow more reticent, her mood suffused by a new feeling she hadn't anticipated: embarrassment. The crowd settled into a number of anticipatory joviality and Nerys found herself feeling very out of place. Catching Elim amid the chaos of Nog's tiny apartment, she drifted over to him.

"My dear, you really should change," he said, his normally cautious expression glowing with a gentle anticipation.

She wished she could talk to Julian. After their conversation the night before, she felt that he understood her the most, but Elim spoke the truth, even when the truth was unfortunate, and she needed blunt honesty at this point. The excited chatter of conversation and pre-drinking helped to drown out the noise of her thoughts.

"What," she began, slowly, meeting Elim's thoughtful gaze, "exactly  _ is _ the Moulin Rouge?" She flinched in anticipation of the costume designer's barbed wit, but he merely placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I understand, my dear." He turned to grab the nearest person to him, which happened to be Worf. "Did any of you think of how we were to get Miss Kira into the Moulin Rouge dressed as she is?"

Worf looked confused for a moment, and then said, "I hadn't considered . . . We will find you a suitable disguise." And then the tall man vanished into a closet to rummage about.

Elim chuckled to himself. "Notice how he doesn't come to me first, me the master of disguise and adornment. Poor sweet Worf." Elim turned to Nerys. "I shall help you, my dear." And then he froze, catching the note of panic in her eyes. "Oh . . ." He moved back to her. "You really don't know, do you?"

"I've only been in Paris for a month or so," she said, her shoulders still tense.

Elim led her to a corner, away from Nog and Julian who had started up a drinking game.

"The Moulin Rouge is many things, depending on what you wish to pay," he began, his voice mysterious. "To the general public, it's a dance hall and nightclub, a place to relax, and take in some diverting entertainments. But to the gentlemen of Paris, especially those with money, it is a place of rather more forbidden delights." He gave her a knowing look.

Nerys spent a few seconds feeling horribly naive, and then Elim's meaning became clear to her like a growing ink stain on clean paper. "Oh, you mean . . ."

"Yes, I do, which is why I find it shocking that no one in this room thought to provide you with a less conspicuous costume."

"They don't allow women?"

"Oh, they do, but only if they're on Quark's payroll."

At that moment, a quietly exasperated Worf returned with a top hat and a white gentleman's scarf.

Elim sighed. "Well, it's a start." He rose and strode over to Julian who was giggling hopelessly over a bottle of brandy. Nerys couldn't see what was said, but Julian shot her a surprised look and then disappeared out the door.

Several minutes later, he returned bearing a dark coat and trousers and handed them to Nerys, blushing slightly. Elim added a white shirt and bow tie which he seemed to have produced from absolutely nowhere. She accepted the clothes and vanished into a quiet room to change. A new kind of anxiety began to take hold of her. The Moulin Rouge suddenly had a sinister air, like that of a beautiful madman luring pretty girls into his clutches with the flash of a charming smile.

But surely her new friends wouldn't let anything happen to her. None of them seemed worried, but then again, none save Elim had realized that she wouldn't be allowed in without pretense. Were these people she could really trust?

She looked up at a knock at the door. "Nerys? Are you decent?"

"Mostly," she said, pulling on the coat. "Though I have no idea how to tie this tie."

"Ah," Elim said, and she could practically hear the nod. "I can assist you with that."

She pushed the door open for him, and he began fiddling with her bow tie, casting approving glances at the rest of her. "You look wonderful. I can help with your hair if you so need. And, I'm afraid you'll have to wear your normal shoes. I couldn't find any spares."

"Do you really think this will work?"

"Everyone will be so soused with drink and blinded by libido that they'll pay you no mind. As long as you don't have skirts for them to play with, they shall completely ignore you."

"That's comforting," she said, chuckling with dark humour.

Elim smiled. "Forgive me for saying so, but I've noticed that you have a sharper edge to you, at times, a world-weary hardness."

"It's a part of myself I'm trying to move away from," she admitted, hastily braiding her hair so she could hide her long red locks under the hat.

"If I may," Elim said, handing her a hairpin. "You should keep that part of yourself close to hand. This is not a city for the naive."

"I am moving away from a bad situation and into a better one. Why shouldn't I be less angry?"

"Because anger will protect you. I assure you, you will do better to not let anyone close."

"What about you and Julian?" she asked. He paused only slightly before continuing.

"Perhaps we are too cavalier. In this enlightened day and age, Julian and I are still too on the fringe of decency to be accepted."

"We accept you."

"And we thank you for that. But it may be better if we were not so open about our proclivities. I beg you, my dear. You must keep your heart tightly locked up. This city will give you nothing, and if you show any weakness, you will find yourself completely destroyed."

Nerys, fixed her bow tie and stood up with the bearing of an arrogant count. "And what about Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and Love?"

Elim winced. "Perhaps I'm not a very good Bohemian." He handed her the hat. "But I'm cursed with a rational mind, and that comes with more than a little cynicism." He smiled. "But don't let my morbid fancies spoil our night. Perhaps once I'm surrounded by handsome men and beautiful woman in sumptuous gowns, I'll be too distracted to spoil your mood. I pray you pay me very little mind."

"Except for all the advice you gave?"

He smiled. "Especially the advice." He gallantly offered her an arm. "Will you join me, milord?"

She gave an awkward simple bow. "Of course, milady!"

He laughed heartily.

The others all turned to her as she entered. Worf nodded with stoic approval. Julian smiled. And Nog threw open his hands in a joyous gesture of welcome. "You look perfect!"

"We should come up with a name to call you, a pen name if you wish," Elim sensibly added to the air of excitement.

"Something unassuming," Worf supplied.

"Something trustworthy," Julain added.

"Any ideas?" Elim turned to Nerys.

She thought for a moment, thinking back to the man her mother had tried to set her up with when she was only thirteen years and not even remotely close to being a woman, and smiled. If only they could see her now.

"Call me Christian," Nerys said, moving to the door. The burst of confidence that came from adopting another persona suffused her and she turned to the men behind her and winked conspiratorially. "Well, gentlemen?" she said. "Are you coming or not?"

At that, she threw open the door, and strode out into the hallway, excited for the first time to finally see the inside of the Moulin Rouge.


	6. The Sparkling Diamond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our hero enters the Moulin Rouge for the first time.

The trip to the Moulin Rouge was only a quick jaunt around the block, but it felt to Nerys as though she had passed through a portal into another realm entirely. The grubby earthiness of Montmartre fell away as they approached the main doors. The great Indian elephant looked one blink from coming to life and carrying them into a lantern-strewn paradise filled with flowing water and ethereal blossoms. The Gothic tower looming just out of the glow of lights promised austere beauty and mysterious revelations, as though it were a locale from a penny dreadful, just waiting for characters to inhabit it. And then there was the gleaming red windmill, blazing with that uncanny electric glow, beckoning them ever onward.

"I should say," Elim whispered to Nerys, "that you must not draw attention to yourself in any way. Men in such situations are dangerous. They're selfish, demanding, and childish. If they know there's a woman in their midst wearing trousers, you'll find yourself not only the recipient of much unwanted attention, but in genuine danger. Keep your head down."

"Stop scaring her," Julian hissed back at Elim.

Elim merely winked at Nerys, and she nodded.

Two suited ushers smiled and opened the doors in perfect synchronicity, and Nerys followed her rambunctious compatriots through the doors. At first, there was a confusion of bodies and loud shouting mixed up with the chaos of a raucous band, but then they tumbled through the foyer and into the main dance hall, and Nerys almost gasped. The inside of the building seemed cavernous, yet so full of people that it was like an underground city. Tables, benches, and alcoves were filled with suited gentlemen laughing, drinking, and taking in the sights. A band played with gleeful abandon in a raised bandstand while colourful dancers in outrageous dresses swirled about the dance floor like flowers in a windstorm. But this was no ballet. The dancing was intense and outrageous and so casually vulgar as to be brave and intoxicating.

There was something so fascinating about the combination of voluminous skirts and the way the dancers held up their hems, flashing leg and underthings with knowing leers and falsely coy winks. Nerys felt like she should have been scandalized. After all, this was not the kind of world she'd ever had any experience with. But the fact that she knew that just the knowledge of a place like this would send her parents into paroxysms of horror made her embrace its strangeness all the more. She followed Nog and the rest as they weaved among dancers collecting tips from fawning gentlemen and tables bedecked with empty bottles. Nerys ignored the occasional stickiness of spilled brandy on her shoes and the uncomfortable odour of pent up men crammed into close quarters.

Soon enough, they were situated around two small tables. They'd only been there for a few minutes, but the vibrating energy of the place combined with the overwhelming sights and sounds made her feel like she'd been lost here for days like Alice in Wonderland. Julian waved over a waiter and soon enough they were set up with a bottle of cheap wine and several glasses. Hardly decadent, but it was all Nerys needed to get her mindset fully into this new world she'd discovered.

"That's him!" Nog said to Nerys, pointing to a short man in an outrageous red tailcoat and black top hat. "That's Quark!"

Nerys had expected a jolly rotund gentleman with a huge red moustache, but Quark still had a larger-than-life quality about him that made up for his unassuming stature.

"Gentlemen!" Quark began, spreading his hands. "Friends! Guests! I know you've been requesting it, and since I'm not one to disappoint, it's that time of the night! So hitch your garters higher, it's time for . . ." he fell into a theatrical whisper and hissed, "the can-can!"

The room erupted in cheers and Nerys shifted in her seat, eager to see what was going to happen. The dancing girls rushed to their spots, a long single line. At first, they stood in demure poses, but once the band started up, a raucous dance tune with a thundering beat, the girls let loose, dancing with such erotic violence that Nerys wondered if they were going to pass out from exertion. High kicks, splits, twirls, all while lugging around a massive dress--it was enough to make Nerys lightheaded, but she watched with absolute fascination. These women weren't ashamed. They weren't scared. They didn't care what society said about decency or modesty. They owned their own bodies with an animal intensity that Nerys deeply admired, though she knew she'd never be as brave as the dancing girls on the floor. The manic acrobatics required to pull off this sweat-drenched dance were well beyond her at present.

Eventually the dance ended and the gasping dancers scattered, leaving the floor bare and empty. But with a gesture from Quark, the lights began to dim and the conversation calmed to a low buzz, anticipation growing for what was to come next.

"I'll be right back," Nog told the group. "Order another bottle of wine on me in the meantime!"

"How on earth can you afford this?" Elim asked.

"Shh!" Nog hissed and slipped away. Nerys was able to catch sight of him flagging down Quark as he left the bandstand, but the lights dimmed further soon after and she lost sight of everything save for the gleam of a sudden spotlight.

Glittering confetti fell to the floor in a magical tumble, seeming to carry with it a figure sitting cross-legged on what looked like a trapeze. The room collectively froze. No one breathed except for Julian who whispered, "It's her, The Sparkling Diamond."

Elim followed that up with a wry, "Her costume's not  _ that _ impressive . . ."

But Nerys didn't respond. She was fixated on the figure descending in a pool of blinding white light which set her glittering dress afire with a thousand stars. The woman's face was concealed partially with the brim of a stylized hat, but what Nerys could see of her looked too perfect to be real. Surely it was a trick of the lighting and costumes, but Nerys couldn't imagine a woman this beautiful existing at all. Her breath caught in her throat as the woman looked up and began to sing, her voice clear and strong, with a wry edge to it that sent shivers down Nerys' spine.

The lights changed all at once and the band launched into a bouncing tune that sent a jolt of energy through the crowd as they began to breathe again, their feet tapping to the music. The woman, The Sparkling Diamond, flew about the room like a circus ringleader then fell into a group of male dancers who joined her in a brisk sharply choreographed number that held Nerys' attention like nothing before. 

She was utterly entranced. The whole time, she kept searching for signs that this goddess was a human woman, subject to any kind of corporeal flaw, but the woman was a born performer. She was entirely within her role, utterly gone from the mortal realm. She was a statue, a painting, an idealized representation of a woman. And Nerys wanted nothing more than to one day meet the real woman beneath the flawless exterior.

"She's outstanding," Elim admitted, "costume deficiencies aside."

"What's wrong with her costume?" Nerys asked, for no reason other than to shake herself out of her obsessive staring.

"Well, it's not that there's anything wrong with it, per se," Elim said. "But there's so much glitter. It's too obvious. I would have gone for black with white trim and perhaps a few statement gems here and there."

"Have you made costumes for the Moulin Rouge before?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Oh yes," he said, his voice swelling with pride at that. "Several. I haven't lately, though. Ever since Quark fell into such debt, he's been making do with his existing stock. But that might change. There's talk that he's found a new investor."

Nereys looked back to the dancefloor. The Sparkling Diamond had pulled Quark into the mix, and the two were obviously acting out a pre-planned pantomine, she pouting and begging and him holding a large glittering ornament just out of her reach and laughing, even though she was taller than he was. Nerys' initial fascination dimmed somewhat and she looked away just as the woman turned to look directly at her. 

This character was so unlike the person she had seemed moments before, now spoiled and submissive. The men in the audience were cheering and leering, waving handfulls of money at the woman, but all Nerys saw was a skilled performer playing a character she longer cared for. She wondered if this was the danger of the Moulin Rouge, a place where everything screamed for your attention so ardently that one soon became immune to it, craving something new endlessly.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden commotion at the next table. Nerys saw Nog hastily dabbing at the coat of an angular, arrogant man who snarled obscenities at Nog. Glittering fragments of a shattered glass tumbled down Nog's shirtfront while champagne had evidently sloshed all over the other man. Nog turned suddenly and plucked a handkerchief from Nerys's table.

"May I borrow this?" he said with an impish wink before returning to the other man whose patience was thinning rapidly judging by the cruel snarl that had twisted his face.

"Fine," Nog shouted at him before storming away. "I was only trying to help! I hope your suit is ruined forever. Bourgeoise pig!" 

"Clumsy fool!" the angular man bit out at Nog before righting his chair and sitting down in a huff.

Nerys turned from the momentary chaos and made an amused face at Elim who smiled. 

"I wonder," he said, "if Nog is aware that he just crashed into a Duke."

"A Duke?"

Elim nodded. "I wasn't sure until he stood up. But I do believe our dear friend just ruined the suit of the nefarious Duke Dukat."

"Nefarious?"

"He's fabulously wealthy, but there are whispers that he obtained a great deal of his wealth via . . . less than savory means." Elim stopped and then a knowing smile spread over his face. "In fact, I think we may have a contender for the role of Quark's secret investor."

Nerys laughed. "You seem to know a lot for a costume designer."

"One does learn a lot while stitching hems, yes," he said with an enigmatic smile. 

"I just can't imagine that Quark would be that desperate. It looks like the Moulin Rouge is doing quite well," she said, looking about the place.

Elim smiled at her. "He would be glad to hear that. He continues to slip farther into debt to maintain that illusion. But he's scheming to change that, which was why we were going to pitch our take on  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ to him."

"Were going to?" Nerys shifted in her seat. "What's happened?"

"Nothing's happened. That's the problem. Nog was so entranced by the idea that he hasn't managed to create anything worthwhile."

"But Julian's music . . ."

"His music is lovely, but there's no plot. We don't have a writer, except for you that is."

Nerys blinked. "I thought . . ."

"Nog is very convincing." Elim sighed heavily and took a drink of the last dregs of his wine. "I should warn you, I think he's planning something. Something involving you."

Nerys looked up. Quark and the Sparkling Diamond vanished inside a fortress of fabric and dress hems as the dance chorus twirled about the whole confection which now looked like an immense fabric cake. "He didn't pitch  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ to Quark?"

"I think he pitched  _ you  _ to Quark."

"What?"

At that, the tower of dresses fell away as the dancers scattered and Quark and the Sparkling Diamond rose, he now feigning embarrassment in stark white underclothes and she in a frothy confection of feathers and baby blue satin, her dark hair now rolling freely down her back. The musical number reached a stunning conclusion, and before Nerys could blink, the woman began to move straight towards her, dark eyes piercing directly into her soul.

Panicking, Nerys turned to Elim. "What's her name?"

Elim whispered, calm as ever, "Jadzia Dax. And I believe she wants to dance with you."

Nerys went absolutely white as Jadzia Dax, the Sparkling Diamond, held out a hand toward her and said, "I believe you were expecting me."

To keep from collapsing into a pile of quivering jelly, Nerys rose and took the woman's hand. "Yes," she said breathlessly.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I changed "Satine's" second diamond dress. Jadzia's dark hair just goes better with blue. Maybe I'm crazy and overthinking this, but I wanted to throw this out there just in case anyone is bothered by it. Though if you're okay with this bizarre mashup , I doubt you'd be bothered by a dress colour... In that case, carry on!


	7. Shut Up and Raise Your Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero meets a beautiful courtesan.

The instant Nerys' hand touched Jadzia's, it was as though someone had hooked up an electric current between them. Nerys was expecting the fiction of this woman's unreality to continue, but the touch of her hand was so grounding, so  _ real _ , that Nerys' whole universe tilted suddenly as it re-calibrated its understanding of how things functioned.

Jadzia's grip was firm. It held the tension of someone performing a theatrical scene with someone they've never rehearsed with before. Outwardly, their body language was relaxed as Jadzia led Nerys to the dance floor, but Nerys could sense the uncertainty that lurked beneath the flashy exterior. Jadzia Dax was nervous about something. But how could she be? Nerys wondered. She was so poised and comfortable in her own skin. Or was she?

Once they reached the centre of the dance floor, Jadzia turned to face Nerys, her electric smile lighting up her face like a marquee. But then, once she joined hands with Nerys, ready to fall into any number of couples dances, Nerys felt her dance partner stiffen suddenly, the dazzling smile freezing into something pained, like hastily-painted porcelain.

"You're . . . a woman?" Jadzia said, her voice a tortured whisper.

Nerys felt her heart explode into a furious rhythm inside her chest and she wished she could look back at Nog or Elim and silently ask for help.

"No," Jadzia said, readjusting her grip on Nery's shoulder and right hand. "Don't turn around. We just have to finish this dance and then you can leave. I don't know how you managed to get inside."

"Have we met?" Nerys asked, feeling dazed and foolish.

"Are you one of the dancers?" Jadzia asked. "Is this a prank?"

"No, I . . ." Nerys scrambled vainly for some sort of explanation, and found nothing. Thankfully, the band started up an exotic-sounding dance tune and the two of them fell into a simple rhumba, their eyes fixed just past one another's shoulders. Nerys had no experience with the dance or how to lead, but after a few fumbling basic steps, they fell into a simple rhythm, dancing as though their lives depended on it.

"I'm so sorry," Nerys finally said. "I didn't mean for this to end up this way."

Jadzia, silently furious, danced in silence for a few moments before speaking. "Who put you up to this?"

Nerys held her breath for three beats before saying, "Nog."

Jadzia breathed out a sigh and looked up as though searching for peace before she returned to looking straight ahead. "Does he know I was meant to dance with a Duke tonight? There are people's livelihoods riding on this."

"I had no idea," Nerys said. "This is all a mistake. I just wanted to see the Moulin Rouge. I had no intention of interfering with anything."

Jadzia frowned momentarily before returning to a theatrically neutral look. "Was this a prank?"

"Never," Nerys said.

Jadzia relaxed. "Then it's just a misunderstanding. Was the Duke sitting next to you?"

"On the other side of the column, yes. I think Nog spilled a glass of wine on him."

Jadzia relaxed further. "Quark pointed him out to me and all I saw was Nog talking to you. I assumed you were the Duke."

"No, I'm sorry. Nog was in front of the Duke."

"Then there's no harm done. I am set to meet with the Duke later, and then I can correct this oversight."

"If I may be so bold," Nerys said, feeling airy and flushed, "I don't think you would have much enjoyed dancing with the Duke. He seems an unpleasant character."

Jadzia gave Nerys a patronizing look. "You seem a sweet girl, and I hate to spoil your view of the world, but in my line of work, a very large percentage of my clients are unpleasant characters."

"Oh. So you're a . . ."

Jadzia's grip tightened incrementally. "I'm a survivor, doing what I have to to bring this place success. And if all goes well, I won't have to merely survive for much longer. I'll have a real career to nurture."

"What do you wish you could be?"

"Please don't pity me," Jadzia's voice now held the steely edge it had had while she was singing earlier, only this time, it felt real, like a suit of armour around a fragile crystalline heart. "I'm an actress in all but name, already. Once I can leave this life behind, I can move onto the stage. I'm owed this, and I don't need a sheltered schoolgirl like yourself, who snuck in here to gawk at me like I am a zoo animal, telling me about what life is really like."

"I never meant . . ."

"Please go," Jadzia said as the song neared its end. She let go of Nerys like she was scalding hot and immediately turned away, vanishing into the crowd, leaving Nerys exposed on the emptying dancefloor like a slow deer in a wolf-surrounded forest clearing.

"Psst! Get off the dancefloor!" someone hissed from the side.

A flutter of laughter passed through the crowd as Nerys dashed to the side, desperate not only to return to the safety of their shadowy table, but eager for this whole night to be over. Her companions chuckled and slapped her on the shoulder as she returned to her seat, wishing she could compress into a tiny ball and slip out a side door.

Jadzia had been so outstanding, and Nerys had ruined their one chance to talk. Why did she think she could have managed a night in a house of iniquity without making a fool of herself. Why had she thought this would be a magical night of glitter and spectacle, a place to escape? 

This place preyed on women, grinding them up and spitting out bedazzled figurines for disgusting men to drool over. It was magical, but only for a single sex. For the other, this was a dangerous cage, a place where optimism went to die, where promises of success kept its victims trapped. And there was nothing Nerys or any of the women here could do to change that.

Two thoughts came to Nerys in that moment, both dangerous and insane. She knew she had to break into the Moulin Rouge later on and apologize to Jadzia Dax for everything. She also knew that someone as talented and strong as Jadzia Dax shouldn't have to wait for a dance with a lecherous noble to buy her freedom. Kira Nerys, naive and untested as she was, began to think of a plan wherein she could save Jadzia and take her away from this life, even though the particulars of such an insane plan were overwhelming and terrifying. But she had to do it, because Jadzia awakened something in her, something she'd never felt before. And although Jadzia probably didn't share these feelings, she deserved a chance to move away and start over, just like Nerys had. Jadzia deserved freedom--freedom to be herself, far away from this place. 

"Are you okay?" Julian asked, staring at Nerys with the concern of a country doctor.

She nodded. "Yes, I'm fine."

His attention was soon taken from her as the band started up again and Jadzia Dax, looking radiant and unflustered, rose above the crowd once more, singing a slow reprise of her earlier song. Her makeup was flawless and she looked like she hadn't ever encountered anything surprising or shocking, and had never gotten upset in the arms of a woman in man's clothing. She sang with confidence and--

Something was wrong. Jadzia's voice cut off in a ragged gasp and, before anyone could fully react, fell into a swoon and plummeted towards the solid dance floor.

"No!" shouted Quark from his place next to the bandstand.

Everyone rose at once.

There was a rustle of confusion before Nerys caught sight of a lanky young man carrying the fainted Jadzia towards a side door. 

"He caught her before she hit the floor," someone whispered. Nerys looked in horror at the spot where the woman had almost died. A fall from that height would surely have been fatal if she hadn't been caught. But why had she fallen?

"What happened?" she asked, feeling dizzy.

"Those costumes are too tight," Worf said with finality. "I do not understand the appeal."

"Tight the costumes may be," Elim spoke up, evidently ruffled, "but surely these ladies are used to them by now. Jadzia has been performing here for three years."

"At least she is alright," Worf said.

"I'm sure she is," Nog said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to speak to Quark again."

Julian turned back to Nerys. "You look incredibly pale. Are you alright?"

Nerys reached for her glass and found it empty. "I guess I'm just not enjoying myself here," she said. "I should really leave."

"I'll go with you," Julian said.

"No, really, stay here. I'm fine. You have fun." He made as though to stand up, and she glared at him. "Stay here. I'm fine."

Nerys edged her way through the cloud of mock-horrified patrons, more enthralled by the spectacle of a near death than anything else. No one noticed her as she slipped through the front doors, the voice of Quark echoing behind her, coming up with some excuse for the woman's fall.

She wanted to go home, but something made her turn around and move to the right. Slipping into the shadows beneath the great elephant suite, Nerys waited for a sign of Jadzia. This was her chance to make things right, and she would wait here as long as she needed to.

It wasn't rational, but Nerys suspected this was another of those four great Bohemian tenets come to roost within her, welcoming her into this new city.

This was love.


	8. Your Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero seeks out the mysterious courtesan

After an hour or so, Julian found her, looking puzzled.

"How did you know I'd still be here?" she said, approaching him and shivering slightly in the cool evening air.

"Elim suggested you'd probably be somewhere nearby, hoping to see if you can find Jadzia," he said, sounding slightly guilty. "It didn't take much in the way of asking the ushers where you'd gone. I hear she's fine, by the way. Jadzia."

Nerys sagged, grateful for the news. "Am I really that transparent?"

"Not at all," Julian said with a smile. "You're just very passionate, and Elim doubted you'd simply leave." 

"I feel like I need to talk to her again," Nerys said, feeling incredibly silly. "I made such a terrible impression on her. I just want to set the record straight with her."

"Are you sure there's not another reason?"

She narrowed her eyes at Julian. "No other reason."

He nodded. "Of course." She let the topic drop, even though she could see the slight twist of amusement at the corner of his mouth. "Anyways," he said, brightening. "I hear she is set to meet the Duke in the Elephant Suite in a short while. I imagine it would be no great feat to see her for a brief apology beforehand."

"Who told you this?" Nerys asked, curious as to the amount of privacy entertained by the Moulin Rouge performers.

"Oh Nog heard about it from someone. You know how he is."

Nerys looked up at the elephant above her, noticing for the first time that the lights inside were brighter than normal. The room had definitely been readied for guests. Then she met Julian's eyes. "Is this a mistake?"

"Not at all," he said, shaking his head.

"Was that a lie?" she asked.

"Probably," he whispered. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't go for it."

She laughed at that, following him inside. They passed the dancefloor and made their way to the grand staircase to the next level. She tried not to think of what she was hearing from the various rooms as she followed Julian to the walkway that connected the Moulin Rouge to the Elephant Suite. He gave her a wink and a quick bow as he left her at the ornate door. 

She knocked.

There was movement inside, followed by a heavy click of a latch. The door opened to a swirl of perfume and distant incense.

"My dear Duke, you're early," Jadzia said with a flourish of a dark beaded dress, stopping suddenly as she met Nerys' eyes.

"I'm really sorry," Nerys began, but Jadzia pulled her inside and closed the door behind her. Nerys tried not to fall without grabbing for Jadzia for stability and just barely succeeded in not toppling headlong into a table set with fruits and cheeses. "My name is Kira Nerys, but you can call me Nerys," she said, wobbling on her feet.

"What are you doing here?" Jadzia said, breathless. "I am set to meet a very important client, and I cannot have you popping out of the woodwork constantly. I'm sorry I pulled you onto the dance floor, but you have to leave before you are caught. You could be in genuine danger if you were discovered." Jadzia spoke quickly, punctuating every few words with a shake of her head as though she were agitated.

"I only wanted to apologize," Nerys began.

"There's no need," Jadzia said with a flick of her hand. "It's done. Finished. You need to go, now."

Nerys felt a rush of strength come from seemingly nowhere and she held up both her hands, her voice finding a hard edge beneath the uncanny calm. "If I may say, I think you're incredible."

Jadzia stopped dead at that. Nerys continued.

"I hope you don't think that I pity you. I admire you. You have clearly worked very hard to develop your talents to where they are now. You're a gifted performer and you understand the human psyche much more than most people." Nerys felt her confidence waver, but pressed on. "But I think you're selling yourself short."

Jadzia's eyes narrowed suddenly.

"I mean," Nerys said, recovering. "That you deserve to be on the biggest stages in the world. What's stopping you from flying away from here and playing at the Globe in London? You can do that now. You're incredible."

Jadzia's eyes softened and Nerys wondered if she detected a gathering of moisture in their corners. The dark-haired woman sighed and said, "That's very sweet of you to say, but I don't think you realize how the world works. I have a reputation, one I've worked hard to cultivate. But it's going to take a great deal of work to change that reputation to one worth promoting in polite society. And the Moulin Rouge's conversion to a theatre is the step I need to get there. Besides," she said, turning away and readjusting a champagne bottle in a dish of ice, "I owe a debt to Quark for taking me in when he did."

Nerys wanted to ask further, but it was clear Jadzia was done talking. But before Nerys could make her excuses and leave, Jadzia changed the subject abruptly. "You're with Nog, right?"

"We're friends," Nerys said.

"Is his troupe of penniless Bohemian ragamuffins working on a pitch for _Spectacular Spectacular_?" She said this all with a ghost of a smile, not with any edge of criticism.

"We are, yes," Nerys said. "We haven't made much progress, but he has some good ideas."

Jadzia turned back to Nerys and tossed her head in a carelessly practiced way. "You should know that Nog is all ideas, but his head is so high up in the clouds that he can't ever return to Earth long enough to put those ideas to good use. You have a way with words. Poetic. You should take over. I think you'd come up with something Quark might actually like."

"I am a writer," Nerys said, blushing slightly.

"I assumed as much," Jadzia said, smiling easily. "Just don't be too beholden to Nog's 'creative vision.' He's enthusiastic, and a lot of fun at parties, but he needs someone who understands passion like yourself."

Nerys averted her eyes at that, looking down at the ground. Jadzia's gorgeous eyes were like gemstones, cutting directly to Nerys' soul. She wanted to be cut by those eyes, but couldn't bring herself to make that leap. They had achieved a truce. Nerys would never threaten that with an inappropriate declaration of affection.

So, instead Nerys clumsily stuttered, "I-I could write you a song."

Jadzia cocked her head, but smiled gently nonetheless.

"I mean," Nerys said, frantically backtracking. "I could write you a sample from _Spectacular Spectacular_ and get your opinions on it. You know music, and you know what crowds like. It would be nice to get some expert advice."

"That sounds fun," Jadzia said. After a second, her expression changed. "But you really must leave. The Duke is running late, and he cannot see you here."

"I will. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me."

"It's no problem at all," Jadzia said, her voice becoming stiffer and more formal. "I shall show you out. Please give my regards to Nog." She led Nerys to the door, pulled it open and then suddenly slammed it, spinning around. Her face, normally pale, grew slightly greenish and she fixed Nerys with a wide-eyed look of terror.

"It's the Duke!" she whispered. Nerys recoiled and looked about frantically. "Hide," Jadzia said, racing over to Nerys.

Just then the door opened.


	9. Sympathy for the Duke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero just barely gets caught by an enemy

The Duke strode into the room with Quark an instant after Nerys ducked in panic behind Jadzia, the former throwing her filmy dress out to the side, creating a shielding curtain of sorts. Nerys crawled as quietly as she could behind the table. An instant of scrambling, and then tense stillness. Nerys put a hand over her mouth to muffle her breathing as the Duke eyed Jadzia.

Duke Dukat was tall and commanding, with an intensely punchable arrogant face which was always hovering one step away from a demeaning sneer. His skin was pale to the point of greyness, and his black hair was excessively shiny, so heavily oiled and perfumed as to seem artificial. Nerys couldn't get a good view of the Duke, peering at him through the sheer fabric of Jadzia's dress, but as soon as he started speaking to her, her opinion of him dropped even further. The Duke's words dripped with condescension and narcissism.

"I hope you're decent," Quark said, eyeing Jadzia approvingly. "May I present--"

"Of course," Jadzia said, falling into her practical theatre voice. She extended a hand for him to kiss, forcing him to approach her. Nerys was impressed at how well Jadzia commanded the whole room, even Quark.

"My lady," the Duke said with a blade-sharp smile as he took her hand, "you look wonderful."

"My dear duke," Jadzia said, "you're late. I've been in here pining away for what's seemed like hours."

"It couldn't be helped, I'm afraid," he said, walking over to the table to inspect the selection laid out on the table. Nerys hunched down as far as she could go, desperate to stay hidden.

"Well, I'll leave you two to get . . . better acquainted," Quark said with a leer before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

The Duke ran a finger over a chilled bottle of champagne. "I must admit, I've been a fan of yours for a while."

"You flatter us," Jadzia said, her voice light and airy, though Nerys could see her fingers gripping the side of the table. "It's such a great honour for you to take an interest in our little show."

"Hardly little," the Duke said, sneering. "I see great things in your future."

"Such as yourself?" she said, with an alluring look that hooked the Duke like a slow fish. Keeping her gaze on him, she moved away from the table towards the bed, and his gaze followed, leaving Nerys free to move for the first time. She caught a flicker of urgency from Jadzia and began to crawl away.

"Wouldn't you like to enjoy a little dessert before . . ." the Duke began, turning back to the table.

"Don't!" Jadzia nearly shouted, startling the Duke into looking back at her. Nerys ducked back down.

"I beg your pardon?" the Duke asked.

Jadzia gave a dazzling smile. "I only meant that you might enjoy a look at the view before we sit down." She gestured out the large open window, framed in draped fabrics. "Isn't Paris beautiful at this time of year?"

The Duke left the table to give the spectacular look a cursory glance. "It's adequate," he said. "I don't know why so many of you people idealize the decay of Montmartre."

"I'm sure it's nothing like what you're used to," Jadzia said, moving toward him, "but it's our job to bring beauty to those who crave it. And that means we need to be able to find beauty anywhere." She took his hand. "Even in less-than-beautiful places."

Nerys almost choked at the thinly veiled insult, but the Duke didn't respond. "Are you a poet, now?"

"I can be," Jadzia said. 

Nerys scanned what she could see. The only exit was the window, but there was no way down from there. The door was the only option, but there was no way to get over there. She was completely trapped. Crawling on hands and knees, she moved over behind a pillar. It was no closer to the door, but at least she was more concealed. A pile of richly embroidered pillows formed a sort of wall to her right. 

"I have to ask," the Duke began, his voice clearly revving up for an extended speech. "I don't think I understand this whole  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ thing. Does this place really need a theatre? It's entertaining, for sure. But does it really need more?"

"I'm not sure what you mean?" Jadzia asked.

"It's obvious that Quark wants me to invest, and it's also obvious that you are the bait. And delicious though you may be, I'm considering whether I really need to invest as much as I was planning. Surely a smaller investment would allow for greater profits. Don't you think that Quark would be satisfied by merely a little boost to his already successful income stream?"

Jadzia seemed completely baffled for all of two seconds before she regained her composure. "My dear duke, you know I know nothing of finances. I am here to make you comfortable. The entire universe exists right here in this room. Nothing else matters." She began to approach him. "But I can say that you should hold off on passing judgment on Quark's plans until you've heard what he has in mind for  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ . It's going to be outstanding." She took his hand and ran her fingers over the greyish aristocratic fingers, feigning fascination.

"Oh really?" The Duke said with a light chuckle. "Do you know any details?"

Jadzia smiled and pretended to look away absently, meeting Nerys' eyes for an instant before turning back to the Duke and placing a hand on his shoulder. "I have recently met with the writer, an outstanding talent who will pen a show I'm sure will draw sold-out audiences. Plus, you must remember, this is one of the few places in the city boasting the new electric light. We are going to be on everybody's lips. But right now. . ." She drew the Duke closer with a light pressure on the back of his neck, "I think we should focus more on what's on your lips. Namely me.

Nerys' eyes went wide as she saw Jadzia pull the Duke into a passionate kiss. He fought it for a few seconds, but soon he embraced it, not with warmth or surrender, but with the arrogant predatory assuredness of a killer stalking cornered prey. He took Jadzia because he knew, in the fiber of his being, that he deserved Jadzia, regardless of what she wanted. She was just an object for him to consume. Nerys had to forcibly unclench her fists once she felt her nails digging into her palms. She didn't want to look, but when she did, a fierce loathing burned in her chest, a fire she hadn't felt before. She felt at once helpless and inspired to fight for Jadzia's freedom. She had no idea how to make that happen, but she knew she had to get the Duke away from her.

"Shall we take this to the bed?" The Duke asked, breaking the kiss, his voice roughened with desire.

"Of course," Jadzia said, his face a perfect submissive mask despite the clenched muscles in her arms and legs, fighting for purchase as she was all but dragged to the bed.

Nerys couldn't stand to see what would happen next, so she pulled away from the narrow peep-hole, and, flailing suddenly at empty air, lost her balance. She crashed back through the pile of pillows in a tangle of limbs, just barely managing to avoid cracking her head open on a jewelled box filled with scarves..

"What the . . .?" the Duke said, pulling away from Jadzia.

"You're right!" Jadzia said, suddenly, pulling his attention away from Nerys who was now squeezing herself behind another column while fighting to untangle herself. "We should wait until opening night! To seal the deal."

The Duke turned to look over his shoulder.

"Oh don't mind about that," Jadzia said, casually. "The maids stack far too many pillows over there. Happens all the time." She reached up and drew his face back to her, lying spread out and artificially vulnerable on the bed. Her voice became seductive and raw. "I absolutely think we should wait until opening night. The anticipation can do wonders."

The Duke, mildly dishevelled, clearly wasn't thinking with his whole brain. He blinked, looked about again, and then turned back to Jadzia, mouth working silently for a few seconds before he said, "I can't promise I'll make it that long, but I'll try it your way for a while."

Jadzia rose towards him and ran a finger down the inside of his right thigh. "We'll make a game of it. Plus, I'll see you every day during rehearsal."

He pulled away reluctantly, but she smiled the smile of a triumphant lioness who knows she's cornered her prey. "I so look forward to working with you."

He inspected her as though weighing the effort required to resist her against taking her right now before giving in, running a hand abstractedly against his pant leg. Jadzia noticed the movement, and took the Duke by the hand, leading him to the door. "I cannot wait to see you tomorrow, my dear handsome Duke. You don't know how lucky I feel to be yours."

"I look forward to confirming your feelings," he said, leering at her as she all but shoved him out the door.

Jadzia's entire face changed. And she suddenly looked exhausted and upset. Nerys pulled herself to her feet as Jadzia stomped over to where she was and grabbed her by the arm. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? You could have been  _ killed _ if he'd found you."

Nerys couldn't speak, and vainly tried to defend herself, her breath gathering in a terrified lump in her throat.

"I have worked too hard to ensure--" Jadzia's next sentence cut off in a choked gasp as she began to struggle for breath. "...too hard…" Nerys moved toward her just as Jadzia began to choke and cough.

"Are you . . . ?" was all Nerys was able to get out before Jadzia Dax collapsed, insensate. 

Nerys barely had time to catch her before she hit her head on the table.


	10. The Pitch (Spectacular Spectacular)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero must think on her feet.

Nerys clutched the unconscious form of Jadzia Dax, overcome with confusion and terror. What had just happened? Jadzia had seemed tense during the conversation with the Duke, though she had hidden it well. But she hadn't seemed ill or in pain. One minute, Jadzia had seemed upset, and then suddenly it was like something had stolen her breath all at once. Nerys had a terrified thought and moved Jadzia to the bed, laying her down as gently as she could. Holding the back of her hand in front of Jadzia's mouth, she was relieved to feel the steady faint pulse of breath. At least Jadzia was alive.

Freed from the form of the unconscious woman, Nerys looked around, searching for anything that might help her. Finding nothing except pillows, embroidered rugs, and scarves, she turned back to Jadzia, wondering if perhaps her swoon had something to do with the uncomfortable-looking bodice of her dark gown. Nerys had worn such restricting clothes on a few rare occasions, and didn't much enjoy the experience. But the idea of removing Jadzia's clothing would be a horrible breach of Jadzia's privacy. She needed help. She tried to think. Jadzia had fainted during her performance. Surely someone had helped her, then. Was there a doctor available?

She looked at the door, and considered sacrificing her anonymity to ask someone for help. Hopefully, the people here would care more that one of their own was in trouble, ignoring the sight of a woman in man's clothing. She took a deep breath, and reached for the door handle, pausing at the sound of muffled voices again. Who was that? She turned toward the window and took two steps before the door to the room opened.

Nerys turned, heart thudding in terror as the Duke stepped into the room.

"Dearest, I forgot my . . .hat . . ." The Duke glared at Nerys and then looked at Jadzia sprawled on the bed. "Foul play?"

Nerys had to think quickly. The only thing she had at her disposal was the truth. She pulled off her hat and let her long red hair fall down in a kinked, sweaty tangle behind her. "I'm a woman. She fainted. I was trying to help her."

The distant voices grew louder. Kira wanted to scream at the voices, demanding who they were, but kept her cool, holding up her hands in supplication. "I was just talking to her."

"Duke?" came a breathy voice.

Both turned to see Jadzia pulling herself up.

"What is going on here?" The Duke asked.

"We were--" Nerys began, but Jadzia regained her composure and began speaking, her voice gaining in strength as she spoke, level and calm.

"Duke Dukat, may I introduce you to the new writer of  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ . We were having a planning meeting and I think the incense in here got to me." She gave a weak laugh. "You took my breath away, Duke."

The Duke sneered. "You expect me to believe this?"

One of the voices hissed at the others to be quiet, and Nerys finally recognized who it was. Throwing caution to the wind, she strode purposely to the window and stared down at Nog, Julian, and another man she didn't recognize, all hanging by a rope beneath the windowsill. The idiots must have been eavesdropping on her. She gave them a brief death glare and then said, in a loud and purposeful voice, "It's okay gentleman, you can come back. The Duke has figured everything out."

Nog gave her a confused look, but then as soon as she widened her eyes in sudden threat of violence, they all three clambered up into the room, approaching the bewildered Duke as though they had absolutely planned to be there and weren't spying on anyone at all. Nerys flashed Jadzia a questioning look, and the dark-haired woman took over again.

"My Dear Duke, I was so inspired by the promise of opening night." She paused to give him a lascivious wink before continuing, "that I just had to get started on  _ Spectacular Spectacular  _ right away." She turned to the trio. "This is Nog, a friend of mine for quite a while. Beside him is Julian, our composer, and that jolly Irish fellow is Miles O'Brien, our engineer and set designer. He will be creating  _ Spectacular Spectacular's  _ more impressive visual effects."

"I am?" Miles asked before falling silent as Jadzia swept over to the man and stepped on his foot as she made her way to Nerys. 

"And this," Jadzia said, gesturing to Nerys as Miles complained about his squashed foot behind her, "is Kira Nerys. Our writer. You'll have to forgive her attire. We had to keep her a secret. She IS quite a celebrity, after all."

"I've never heard of her," the Duke said.

"She's famous in the theatre community," Jadzia said, waving his concern away with a flick of her practiced hand.

An urgent knock at the door was followed by Quark who barged into the room, looking furious. "What the devil is going on in here?"

Jadzia grabbed him by the shoulders and said, "It's all right, the Duke just accidentally found about about the secret rehearsal."

"Secret rehearsal?" Quark asked, eyeing the strange assortment of people with suspicious eyes. 

Jadzia all but shook him by the shoulders. "The one you ordered in order to show the Duke what we have been working on. Especially since he's so eager to invest in  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ ."

A beat and then Quark's eyes brightened. "Of course. I'm so sorry, my dear Duke that I didn't tell you. I would never presume that you were going to invest in our show, so I figured we had better show you a bit of what we had planned."

Somewhat mollified, the Duke made his way to the centre of the room. "Alright then, what is the story?"

Everyone shot each other panicked looks, but Nerys stepped forward. "It's about . . ." she tossed her hat onto the bed and held out her hands, as though holding an invisible globe, desperate to come up with what glowed inside of it. And then she caught Jadzia's eyes and shot the Duke a dazzling smile. "It's about love."

"Love?" the Duke asked, looking suddenly bored.

"Yes," Nerys said. "The kind of love that overturns cities and lights up mountains. The most powerful force in the universe."

"Yes!" Nog said, stepping forward. "And it begins with a Swiss nun."

Jadzia swept in front of Nog, holding a length of yellow and gold drapery which she tossed over him. "It's actually set in India." The yellow drapery protested, but Jadzia continued. "It features a beautiful courtesan, content in her simple life."

"And," Nerys added, shooting Jadzia a grateful smile, "her kingdom is invaded by an evil maharajah, played by," she looked up and pointed at the first person she saw, "Quark."

"I will?" he said, but then he grinned and said, "Yes, of course I will." he assumed a mildly threatening posture. "He's a brutal man with all manner of appetites."

Julian then spoke up, "And there's a magical sitar who can only speak the truth." He dashed to the side and grabbed a model sitar which was missing most of its strings and held it up.

Nerys pointed at Julian in affirmation. "And there's a penniless sitar player who finds it at a bazaar in the maharajah's new kingdom. And while he's looking at it, he catches sight of the most beautiful woman in the land." She looks at Jadzia. "And she turns out to be the courtesan."

Jadzia tilted her head at that, but then took the improvisational thread and ran with it. "Yes. She is in the bazaar because she's trying to find a way to escape the maharajah who demands  _ unspeakable _ things from her." Jadzia shot Quark a glare before turning back to the Duke who by now had settled into a chair. "But while she's escaping, she sees the sitar player and it's love at first sight."

"Exactly," Nerys said, feeling giddy at this chaotic, seat-of-the-pants approach to storytelling. "But they have to keep their love a secret."

"I bet the sitar gives the game away," the Duke said, his lips curling in a smile.

Heaving the thick drapery aside, Nog stepped forward and grabbed the sitar from Julian. "I will of course play the magical sitar. It's really the true star of the show."

"Of course," Jadzia said, gesturing to Miles. "And Miles here has some incredible ideas for stagecraft effects."

"I do?" he paused and then said, "Actually, I do! I was thinking a rotating stage, showing us the beauty of the kingdom, but you flip it around and suddenly you can see all the corruption in the background."

"That sounds awfully political," the Duke said, frowning.

"Perish the thought," Quark said, hopping amid the group of artists. "It's a story of good versus evil. A thrilling tale of deception and lies and the love which overcomes it all. We can even have the maharajah survive at the end, his kingdom intact. The silly lovers will escape, but the maharajah's kingdom will survive for all time, stronger than ever."

"I don't know if--" Julian began, looking more than a little insulted.

"We can debate the ending later!" Jadzia said, spreading her hands. "This meeting was merely so we could all get on the same page. We are all so excited about what this show can be. Your investment will mean so much to me personally. And," she moved toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder, "we would appreciate your brilliant creative input. Your name will forever be associated with innovation and grand vision." She crouched down and met him eye to eye. Nerys noticed how skilled Jadzia was at becoming whatever men wanted her to be. The subtle lip pout, the gentle pressure on his leg, it was all so tactical. "You have the power to make this happen, to change Paris forever, leading the cutting edge of modernity."

The Duke practically swelled at the word 'power,' his smile widening. "I do have one or two ideas that you will need to make this a success.

"We would appreciate anything you can offer to us," Jadzia said, her voice breathless, but rather from genuine excitement or fatigue from her fainting spell, Nerys couldn't tell.

The Duke rose from his seat, looking down at Jadzia's kneeling form with haughty superiority. "I think this will be an outstanding show." He then turned to Quark. "Monsieur Quark, I believe it's time to draw up the contract regarding my pending investment."

Quark lit up like the windmill outside. "Absolutely! I shall treat you to our finest champagne and we can discuss this in my office. If you'll follow me, we can get this started." He led the Duke toward the door, though the Duke moved with the assurance of someone who owned everything in the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, everyone in the room sagged with sudden exhaustion, followed by a giddy laughter that bubbled up from the lowest registers, ending with everyone laughing hysterically and trading handshakes and hugs.

Nerys met Jadzia's eyes across the room and smiled. Jadzia responded with a silently mouthed, "Thank you," that shot a quiver of weakness through Nerys' knees. She made it to the chair as casually as she could before she collapsed into it, sighing in relief. They had thrown together a stage show in all of three minutes, and it was good enough to bring in a great deal of money. If this show was a success, Jadzia would become a star. And then she could be free of this place.

Nerys began to consider something else. If Jadzia left, Nerys wished she could go with her. But she knew that would never happen. They were both women.

But then she looked up and saw a curious glint in Jadzia's eyes. She was looking right at Nerys and smiling, and there was something else behind that smile.

It was good that Nerys was still sitting.


	11. Firework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero reflects on her situation

Kira Nerys didn't care much for parties, at least not the way her new Bohemian friends did them. They were too loud, too explosive. Drinks flowed freely, much of it nasty home-distilled swill that was more likely to set one's eyes on fire than to get one drunk, but no one cared. Nog was scrambling onto the roof, shouting about the revolution while the others caroused about the apartment building, spilling out into the hallways and thudding against furniture. She rounded a corner to find Elim and Julian wrapped around one another like sea creatures, blissfully oblivious to the rest of the world.

Choosing not even to clear her throat, Nerys turned a quick about face, blushing all the while, and made her way back down the hallway. She knew she needed to type up a rough runthrough of  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ before the rambling story they'd just constructed vanished from her addled stress-weary brain, but she couldn't stop thinking of Jadzia. It was safe to say that the courtesan didn't resent Nerys, as she'd originally thought, but now there was something else, something terrifying.

Nerys knew that Jadzia was outstanding. She was talented and beautiful and, as she'd seen this evening, brilliant. It was easy to fall in love. Nerys had never been in love before, but she imagined this is what it must feel like at first. But it could not go any further.

Or could it?

There had been something in the courtesan's eyes. Perhaps it was just a result of the bizarre circumstances, and perhaps it was merely admiration for how well they worked together, and perhaps . . . Nerys shook her head. She was being ridiculous. Jadzia was a courtesan. She sold her love to men. She was a performer, all polished exterior. Nowhere between those two poles would there be room for a woman who, in a bizarre dangerous world where such people were put on trial for what they were, would allow herself to entertain thoughts for a penniless writer whose love could get them both arrested.

But then she thought of the brief liaison she'd witnessed between Julian and Elim. They were happy, amid the danger. They were even comfortable enough to be open about who they were with the other Bohemians. They had a place here. And her new friends had opened their ranks to Nerys without question. She didn't feel much like a Bohemian revolutionary, but she did feel welcomed and strangely comfortable, even though the others were raucous and wild, and made Nerys feel like a grumpy old woman complaining from under fifty shawls about how loud the children were.

Maybe she should join them, she thought, idly drifting through the hallway toward her apartment. The sound got louder as she neared the rickety stairwell to the upper level. Sighing, she made up her mind to go upstairs. The sound hit her like a wave as soon as she entered an upper room whose doors were open for all to enter. Its large balcony was crammed with laughing figures in various states of odd dress and deshabille. Others were milling about, laughing and talking, sharing drinks with chaotic abandon. Judging from the colorful dresses on many of the women, it was clear that several of the dancers from the Moulin Rouge had joined the party.

Nerys was already overwhelmed, but she forced herself to at least make an appearance. Looking about, she caught sight of a calm oasis of stillness and silence in a corner and made her way directly to the two men there. Worf was surveying the goings on like a sentinel chess piece while Miles was bobbing along to a drinking song that a few of the dancers were singing. The Irishman's glass was empty, and he kept looking about hopefully, as though a bottle was a rare relic amid the chaos.

"Need something to drink?" she asked, casually.

"I need a good drink," he clarified, his voice rough and strong. "There's a lot of garbage here. Wouldn't want to destroy my palate, you know?"

She didn't. "I'll take your word for it. I'm still recovering from the absinthe I had two days ago.

"Nasty stuff," Miles said, before turning to Worf. "Do you like absinthe?"

Worf sighed. "Absinthe is a test of courage. It is not for the weak-willed."

Miles laughed and turned back to Nerys. "Tons of fun he is, am I right?"

"Do you really like all this?" Nerys asked, trying not to sound too much like a tired grandmother as she gestured to the general chaos around them.

"It's good fun."

"But it's always like this," she said, raising her voice to be heard over a cacophony of laughter. "Isn't it a bit much?"

"Nah," Miles said, completely at ease. "The world is what you make of it."

On the other side of the room, a dancer popped a bottle of champagne and sprayed the fizzy liquid all about, laughing like a crazed hyena.

Nerys sighed. "You know what, I really do have a lot of writing to do. I think I'll focus on that."

"Your loss," Miles said, shooting her a teasing smile.

She stepped over and around bodies in various states of unconsciousness, eventually finding herself drifting toward her room. Now that she had experienced the chaos firsthand, the muffled sounds of celebration oozing through her ceiling didn't bother her so much. She would have to get up early to take care of her maid duties, so she wanted to get as much done as possible tonight. She had a feeling her mistress would present her with a time-consuming project tomorrow that would eat up most of her day. Mrs. Keiko was planning a dinner party later on in the week, and so the amount of extra tasks piled on top of Nerys' usual duties were mounting.

The need to procrastinate from the incoming tide of work actually helped and Nerys fell into a writing groove fairly quick, but once she began to consider the character of the exotic courtesan, her attention immediately drifted to Jadzia again. The character of the courtesan was exploited by others, an object to be worshipped. But Jadzia wasn't at all like that. She was brilliant and a warrior, fighting to reshape her life so she could escape from the men who treated her like a commodity. 

Nerys thought back to their first meeting on the dance floor. She  _ had _ pitied Jadzia, even though she'd protested against it. She had been so quick to see herself as someone in a position to help, looking down at the courtesan from above. But Nerys wasn't in a much better place. She was a barely starving maid for a moderately wealthy socialite. She said she was a writer but had never had a single thing published. She lived in a hovel next to a bordello. She had no influence. What would Jadzia see in her? Even if, in the bizarre off chance that Jadzia returned her affections, what future could they possibly have? An actress and a maid? How would they ever support one another? Surely Jadzia would be successful. She was outrageously talented. She would be traveling all over Europe. But a traveling maid wasn't feasible. She would support Jadzia, but how could she contribute?

She shook her head and pushed herself away from the typewriter. "One vague look and you're already planning your life together," she said, running a hand through her dirty hair. Her hair had been squashed into a hat all day, and she didn't have the energy to haul and boil water for a bath. But she didn't feel like herself. She needed to do something to get out of her head and focus on what was really important.

Eventually she settled for wandering over to the chipped ewer on the small side table. There was enough water left that she could at least scrub the grime of the day off of her face. She filled the small basin and splashed cold water onto her face, combing wet fingers through her hair and splashing fatigue from her eyes. She probably didn't look much better, but at least she felt more human. Now that her hair was damp, she was able to pull it into a somewhat respectable ponytail.

Without even thinking, she realized she was getting ready to go out. But go where?

The question was so obvious she chuckled out loud. Of course she knew what she was doing. She wanted to go and see Jadzia, even if it was from a distance. There was something about appearing to Jadzia as herself, not disguised as a man or fumbling over her words. She wanted Jadzia to see the real Kira Nerys. It was as subtle as setting off a firework in a quiet neighbourhood, but she knew she had to try. 

It was probably inappropriate to call on her like this, but she didn't care. Jadzia probably wasn't even still awake. Or if she was, she was probably with clients. Nerys felt her face flush at that. But was it a flush of jealousy or outrage at the men who used Jadzia without truly respecting her? She wasn't even sure. But she needed to get outside. Even if she didn't see Jadzia, she could at least enjoy the cold night air and banish her intrusive thoughts. 

Grabbing a simple wool shawl, Nerys flipped it over her shoulders, smoothed down the grubby folds of her dull muslin dress, one of only two that she owned, and went to wander about the Moulin Rouge.


	12. Elephant Love Medley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero takes a terrifying chance

The night wasn't as cold as Nerys originally thought. The breeze was nice, but in the breaths between the cool movement of air, Paris felt close and uncomfortable. Nerys lifted her ponytail to give her neck some room to breathe. She considered chopping it all off and wearing her hair short, something easy she wouldn't have to worry about. 

The breeze was most refreshing out front of the Moulin Rouge, so she turned and made her way past the great windmill, still lit up. The great gothic tower loomed behind it all, standing in stark contrast to the bedazzled elephant standing out front. Nerys took a moment to appreciate the insane excess of the strange statue, at once a monument to a faraway place and yet also a cheap imitation of a vague idea. Nerys had always wanted to visit India and write about the people there and try the food. But this elephant seemed incredibly silly the more she looked at it, a distillation of a far-off place into something simple and entertaining, free of the people who built the culture it casually mocked. 

She laughed. Maybe she was more of a revolutionary than she admitted.

"Is someone there?"

Nerys jumped at the voice and turned to see Jadzia sitting on the staircase that led up to the top of the elephant. Her heart began galloping. "It's me. Kira Nerys."

"I almost didn't recognize you," Jadzia said. Her voice was roughened, and Nerys wondered if she had been crying.

"I had to get out of the building," Nerys said, as casual as possible. "Nog is throwing a party."

Jadzia laughed. "I have been to Nog's parties before. They're . . . excessive."

"I'm curious how someone like you can be acquainted with someone like him," Nerys said, trying desperately to sound casual.

Jadzia winced. "That's a strange story." She met Nerys' eyes. "Not a story I'd prefer to share with a stranger."

Nerys felt immediately guilty for even talking to Jadzia at this point.

"I should go," she said, face red.

"You don't have to," Jadzia said.

Nerys froze, unsure what to do next.

"I, uh, want to thank you for your help today," Jadzia began. "Quark has been getting frantic about getting  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ off the ground." Then she smiled. "You're very talented. It sounds like it's going to be a great show."

Nerys flexed her toes inside her worn shoes to make sure she was still rooted to the earth. Taking a breath, she did the only think she could think of: ramble incoherently.

"I don't know how good I'll be at writing. It's about love, and I don't really know what that is. I mean, I know what it should be, but I wouldn't know where to start." She looked at Jadzia. "Have you ever been in love?"

Jadzia laughed. "You're sweet. I almost hate to destroy your worldview with my answer."

"You can tell me," Nerys insisted.

Jadzia rose to her feet. "I don't know if love exists outside of a storybook. The men who come to the Moulin Rouge are looking for love, but the kind of love they like doesn't take much time at all and can be forgotten in an hour. And they like it that way. No, Nerys, I've never been in love."

"You sound so cynical," Nerys said, her voice quieting.

"I have to be. I'm a courtesan. We can't afford to love."

"But what if someone came along and made you feel something no one else ever had?" Nerys asked, feeling like an absolute idiot. "What if someone just fell into your life one day and you couldn't help but fall in love with them. What would you do then?"

Jadzia gave Nerys an arch look. "This isn't some fanciful romantic musical where that kind of thing would ever happen. I don't really care what the men in my life do. They spark zero interest in me. It's just a job. A job I will be able to fly away from very soon."

Nerys looked down at the ground and began to play with the folds of her skirt. "I wasn't necessarily talking about men," she said, her voice small.

There was a very long pause before Jadzia spoke again, her words tightly controlled and one breath above a whisper. "That would be illegal. And dangerous."

Nerys felt dizzy, but she kept talking. "What if it was kept a secret?"

"Would it really be worth it?"

Nerys wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she tried something else. "I don't know if I really believe in this, but Nog and his so-called 'children of the revolution' talk about love as something as essential as freedom and truth. It's this monolithic ideal."

"It's a fairy tale," Jadzia said.

"I don't think it's like that at all," Nerys said, feeling bolder. "It's more like a collection of small things. Like a medley of songs. It's putting someone else's needs before your wants. It's sharing hot tea on a cold morning. It's laughing at a ripped dress." Nerys took a step closer. "Love is a patched skirt you could never dream of throwing away. It's not a new, shiny satin gown."

"But men prefer the satin gown. They want the fantasy."

"Men are idiots," Nerys said, smiling, now. She felt warm and giddy, and if she stopped talking, she knew she'd clam up again. "The men who want love never come to the Moulin Rouge. But I'm not talking about them. I'm--" she felt her heart seize in her chest, but she kept going, "I'm talking about me."

Jadzia shot Nerys a terrified look. "Do you have any idea what you're saying? You're being a fool."

"I am, yes," Nerys said. "And if you have no interest in me then I will walk away right now. You've been so mistreated that I don't even know if you'd ever want to fall in love, and I respect that. But I have to say it because if I don't, I'd explode."

A horrifying silence followed, and then Jadzia cleared her throat. "Well, we wouldn't want you to explode."

Nerys froze.

Jadzia continued. "I would be lying if I said I didn't find you interesting." She looked down. "But it would never work. It could destroy my career, and you could end up in jail or worse."

"Do you know about Julian and Elim?"

"Yes."

"They're happy. And accepted."

"Are they really accepted?" Jadzia said, standing up. "Or are they ignored because people are lazy?"

"Their friends treat them well," Nerys said, a little unnerved by Jadzia's reaction.

"They have no real careers. Their lives exist here and nowhere else. I don't want that for myself. I want to be in the public eye. I can't do anything to jeopardize that."

Nerys nodded but said nothing.

Jadzia's tone softened. "I am in a dangerous place in my life. One mistake could cost me everything. I can't ruin that." At that, she got up and began to climb the stairs to the upper terrace atop the elephant's back.

Nerys stood frozen in place for a few moments, but then moved to follow Jadzia. The courtesan looked down and saw Nerys and said, "Please just leave me alone."

"I will, Nerys said, gasping as she raced up the stairs. "I just have to say one thing."

Jadzia crossed her arms but didn't say anything.

Nerys took a deep breath. "I think you're incredible. And I know you deserve everything you've ever wanted. You're so strong and talented, and I know you're going to do incredibly. And I completely understand if you have no interest in me. But before I go, I want to say that I think I'm falling in love with you. And it may just be infatuation, and I may be absolutely crazy, but I want you to know."

Jadzia stared, silently.

Nerys stood, frozen in place, waiting for her heart to give in and detonate in her chest.

Then Jadzia took a step forward and placed a hand on Nerys's cheek. Nerys felt her skin flush fire-hot.

"It probably is just infatuation," Jadzia said, her voice quiet. A moment of silence passed. "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel it also."

Nerys felt as though she were seconds away from dying of shock, but she clung to life as desperately as she could. "You . . . do?" Nerys hadn't actually assumed that Jadzia would say anything. She just knew she had to make her intentions known, regardless of the consequences. Hearing her feelings reciprocated was not anywhere on the mental list of outcomes. At best, she had expected to be chased away in shame.

"You have a good soul," Jadzia said. "And, unlike every infatuation I've ever experienced, it's obvious that you want nothing from me that I wouldn't already give freely. You're naive, but you're also incredibly practical and grounded. And I don't ever feel like I need to present a character when we're talking."

Nerys tried to talk, but couldn't find the breath.

Jadzia placed a finger on Nerys's lips. "This would still be dangerous. And I cannot allow it to become anything other than a dalliance."

Nerys deflated a bit, but only a little.

Jadzia continued. "With that said, I don't think I've ever felt as comfortable with another person as I do with you."

"So," Nerys began, her voice barely a whisper. "You don't love me?"

Jadzia smiled. "I told you," she began, her eyes sad. "I can't afford to love. But I can afford to let down my defenses."

Nerys had already reached a plane of happiness she never dreamed of, but she felt a squirm of jealousy deep inside her, nonetheless. She knew she was being selfish. She knew she was asking for too much. She knew Jadzia's life was her own. But there was something within her that wanted to just give itself fully to Jadzia, to hold nothing back and let Jadzia consume her completely. 

But then another quiet voice in her head told her to be patient. No one fell in love at first sight, she knew, regardless of how she felt. This could just be the beginning of something better.

"Thank you," Nerys began, moving closer to Jadzia, "for giving me a chance."

Jadzia smiled. "And thank you," she said, "for taking a chance on me. Even if you're being an absolute idiot."

"You can say no," Nerys said.

"But I don't want to," Jadzia said, and she pulled Nerys toward her and they kissed.

Paris did not easily go to sleep, but amid the sound of life, Nerys existed in a vortex of silence in which only two people in the universe existed. She drew Jadzia toward her, desperate to keep the kiss from ending.

The elephant beneath them, sensibly, kept their secret.


	13. Because We Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero attends an important gathering

By the time Nerys had a free evening to return to the Moulin Rouge a few days later, the corridors were abuzz with rumors. Not wanting to directly seek out Jadzia with so many people around, she found Julian carrying a sheaf of ink-splattered pages and looking generally harried.

"Have you heard?" he said, shooting her an eager look as though he never dreamed he'd be the one to pass on juicy information to anyone.

When she said, "I haven't, no," his smile widened and he nearly tripped as he walked.

He readjusted the sheaf of papers in his arms. "Duke Dukat has finalized his financial support of  _ Spectacular Spectacular  _ and the theatrical conversion of the Moulin Rouge's great hall! We're getting a full orchestra! I had no idea the Duke would offer so much. This is all going to happen!"

"You helped make this happen," Nerys said, finding it impossible not to smile at his boyish enthusiasm. "You and your magical sitar."

He shook his head, affecting an airy smile. "I was nothing. You and Jadzia came up with the story. This is going to make all of us famous, Nerys!"

She nodded and gently pushed him away from an imitation piece of decorative pottery he was about to careen into. "We just have to get it done, first." She allowed for a brief pause, and then asked, "Do you know where Jadzia is? I'd like to tell her the good news."

"Oh, she knows. She has to." Julian began sorting through his papers which Nerys saw were hastily written musical scores. "We're all reporting for a meeting where Quark will announce everything. Well, probably everything." He found the page he had been searching for and shifted it to the top of the stack.

"What's that mean?" Nerys asked.

Julian lowered his voice. "There's been rumors that The Duke now holds the deed to the Moulin Rouge as collateral."

"Surely not," Nerys said, feeling a slight chill at the amount of power that gave the Duke over Quark.

"Apparently it was his requirement."

"Has Quark said anything about it?"

"No, Jake said he heard it from the Duke's manservant, Mr. Weyoun."

Nerys hadn't heard either of those names before, save for one offhand remark that brought back a harrowing memory. "Jake's the one who caught Jadzia when she fell, right? Did we ever find out what happened with that?"

The question was evidently so removed from the current events that Julian wasn't able to provide any information aside from a vague, "I'm not sure. That was ages ago."

Nerys tried something different. "Have you met this Mr. Weyoun?"

Julian shook his head. "I've heard he's charming, but a little slimy. You know how these aristocrat types are. They only hire people who stroke their egos while they fix their ties."

This conversation brought them into the great hall, a dusty secondary dancehall for private gatherings that the recent upgrade of the Moulin Rouge had evidently forgotten. It was a large room, its vaulted ceilings sporting a grand chandelier that, when dusted, would add an impressive element of class to the room. There was a platform at one end that, with a lot of work, could be converted into a stage, but it didn't seem nearly large enough to contain the elaborate sets Nerys had envisioned. But perhaps it would look better once redesigned.

"Welcome!" a voice called out from a high balcony to the side. Quark looked like an emperor surveying his domain, resplendent in a massive fur coat and brandishing a showy cane topped with a gleaming silver eagle. Evidently, the owner of the Moulin Rouge had done some shopping in the wake of his newfound fortune.

Everyone gathered together. Nerys craned her neck to see Jadzia, but couldn't find her. And then she did. The room fell immediately silent. The Moulin Rouge's Sparkling Diamond glided into the room on the arm of Duke Dukat, both looking like visiting royalty. The duo altered the feel of the room, he in a vaguely military royal blue uniform and she in a stunning sea-green satin gown, her hair done up in a vintage updo. The pair looked magnificent, but in a tragic sense, the way one would stop and stare at a state funeral procession, the carriage bearing the royal corpse adorned in resplendent majesty. Rather than instilling uplifting awe, the sight made everyone feel profoundly sad, as though mourning the valuable gold and gemstones that would be uselessly buried with a body who had no use for them anymore. Nerys felt a stab of jealousy, but that was quickly shrouded by a helpless anger at seeing what Jadzia had become to keep her dreams alive.

Jadzia turned to Quark and gave him a nod, which reanimated him as though he was a clockwork figure in need of winding.

"Thanks wholly to our most generous patron, the Duke Dukat," Quark began, gesturing like a circus ringleader, "I am happy to officially announce that The Moulin Rouge will immediately take the next step in its ascendency to the pinnacle of the Paris entertainment scene. This empty room around you will quickly become the first destination on anyone's itineraries. It is here that  _ Spectacular Spectacular  _ will ravish people's imaginations and make all of you world famous!"

The crowd erupted in joyous applause, but all Nerys could muster was a sad look over at Jadzia who met her eyes for a moment and gave her a terse nod that clearly said, "Not now." Nerys wanted to think that she would eventually get an explanation of how they couldn't be together, but she couldn't help imagining something much worse, that the Duke had proposed marriage, and the two of them were going to leave, Jadzia chained to that repulsive man for all time. She shuddered suddenly and tried to distract herself by turning back to Quark, who was explaining how  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ would come to life.

"And you all probably know the director!" Quark laughed good-naturedly. "He's that charming eccentric Bohemian, and one of my most frequent patrons, even if he doesn't always pay his tab." Everyone laughed at that, breaking the tension that had frosted the crowd since Jadzia and the Duke's arrival. "I'd like to congratulate Nog on his upcoming triumph on the stage! And if that wasn't enough, he will be playing the small but crucial role of the magical sitar!"

Applause filled the room as Nog hopped to the front of the crowd and made a few stiff bows to everyone, grinning like a hyena.

Quark continued. "And at last, the moment you've all been waiting for." He paused and quieted his voice. "The two most coveted roles in the show, that of the beautiful courtesan and the penniless sitar player, will go to . . ." He took a breath and then shouted, "Our very own Jadzia Dax and the multi-talented Julian Bashir, who will also be composing the music for us."

Nerys's eyes widened at that. Most of the cast would be pulling double duty.

"He's perfect," Nog declared, visibly delighted, as he pointed at Julian with both hands. "You're even from India!"

Julian looked affronted. "I'm from the Sudan, Nog."

"Well, close enough."

"It's in Northern Africa, you dunce. Not even close."

"Well, whatever, you look the part."

"I'll try not to be insulted," Julian said, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

"Don't listen to him," Nerys said, moving to Julian's side. "He's never left Paris, and wouldn't know a map unless it was painted on an absinthe bottle."

Elim also materialized on Julian's other side, looking perturbed. "There's no use defending Nog," Elim said to Nerys, one hand on Julian's shoulder. "His ignorance knows no bounds."

Nerys nodded.

Julian gave a dismissive smile and turned to Nerys. "It's not even that important. I shouldn't have auditioned for the role at all."

"Nonsense," Elim said.

"Mr. Garak's right," Nerys said, going for a formal tone.

"It's not that, it's something else," Julian said, relaxing slightly. "Paris is not my home. My father deserted from the army and fled with us here to get my mother and I away from the upheaval surrounding the incompetence of the British occupiers and the resulting stirring of extremist nationalists in the area. I was quite young, so I don't know much of my home aside from what my parents told me while we lived in London and then moved here. I want a home, and I'd like Paris to be my home, but every now and then, someone comes along and reminds me that I am a man without a home."

Nerys blinked, not expecting such a deep personal revelation in a chaotic moment such as this. She took a steadying breath and then said, "If you don't want to play this role, you can insist Quark cast someone else. You can focus all your attention on your music."

Elim smiled. "What a charming idea!" He turned to Julian. "What do you think? Leave these ignorami to their tasteless fancies. You can work from behind the curtain."

They both watched Julian for a few moments while he debated with himself. After a moment, he gripped his score notes closer to his chest and stepped to the front of the crowd, clearing his throat to demand silence. Everyone complied quickly.

"What is it, Julian?" Quark asked, his voice immediately annoyed.

"I must decline the role of the penniless sitar player," he said, his voice clear and confident. "I don't think I'd be right for it."

"What are you talking about? You auditioned! And you look the part beautifully."

Julian smiled, barely hiding a wince. "Composing the score for  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ will require all of my time. I regret that I will not be able to divide my time."

Quark was left speechless for a few moments before he regained his composure, his showman's ability to improvise taking over. "In that case, it seems our first order of business is a surprise audition for the male lead. No preparation allowed! Step forward and make your case!"

Nobody moved for the longest time before a tall figure strode to the front, shoulders set in a proud military bearing.

Quark frowned. "Worf?"

"I wish to audition," Worf declared, his words a challenge to anyone who would oppose him."

"Really?" Quark asked. "You sure?"

"Yes."

Nobody breathed. Nerys even caught a smile of genuine mirth soften Jadzia's expression, made all the more stark in contrast to the Duke's irritated scowl.

Worf held out a hand and launched into an impassioned reading of one of Mark Antony's monologues from Shakespeare's  _ Antony and Cleopatra _ . He did it well, imbuing the text with strength and vigour, even though she'd found Mark Antony to be something of a disaster when she'd read it. She wondered why Worf had chosen something martial rather than one of the more romantic passages, but she admitted that his delivery was powerful. Nerys thought she may actually enjoy that particular play more if Worf was acting the male lead.

When he finished, he lowered his clenched fist and gave a terse bow.

Nobody moved. But then Quark laughed and clapped. "That was very serious, Worf. I think we may be looking for someone a bit more . . . romantic, don't you think? Anyone else?"

But nobody said a thing. Everyone was so tickled by the idea of Worf playing the role that they all simultaneously decided to endorse the tall man from Minsk for the role unanimously. "Congratulations, Worf," Julian announced, starting a round of applause that took Quark completely off guard. The rest of the room joined in, and Worf accepted the role with a polite bow, and there was nothing Quark could do about it. With a nod, the owner joined in with the applause.

"We have much to do," Quark said, raising his voice to regain control of the situation. "So get to it! The construction crews are already preparing to--"

A massive explosion of wood and plaster interrupted Quark's words, a massive wrecking ball smashing through the wall right behind him. A quick step was all that kept Quark from being shoved over the balcony into the crowd below. Everyone gasped, but Quark regained his composure and raised his hands. "The show must go on!" he shouted. Everyone applauded before getting to business.

Seeing Jadzia facing away from the Duke, Nerys took the opportunity and ran over to her, keeping her voice distant and formal. "Miss Dax," Nerys said, "I wanted to congratulate you on getting cast as the lead."

"The female lead, you mean" the Duke corrected with a derisive laugh.

"Ah, yes," Nerys said, at a loss.

Jadzia winked at Nerys and then turned to the Duke. "I must leave you for the evening, my dear," she said. "I would like to discuss my character with the show's writer. You do understand, don't you?"

"I suppose," the Duke said, his voice cold.

Jadzia was out of the Duke's grasp a moment later, whispering to Nerys, "Get me out of here," as they fast-walked away.

"I know just the place," Nerys said, all her fears vanishing in an instant. She and Jadzia were together. And no Duke was going to stand between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addendum: I know we never learned where Julian is from in the show, but Alexander Siddig is from the Sudan, so I went with that. And then I read up on the history of the Sudan area during the 19th century, and THAT dropped me down a rabbit hole. But it was good, because it allowed me to make a comment about the cultural appropriation and colonialism of Spectacular Spectacular's subject matter, which is one of the elements of the original movie that has not aged super well (even though it is ABSOLUTELY something a theatre would do in 19th century France).


	14. Your Song (Rehearsal Montage)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero falls into an exciting affair.

Nerys fell into a comfortable rhythm over the next few weeks. Mistress Keiko's dinner party was a success, which allowed the household to return to normal. This gave Nerys more time to write and spend more evenings at the Moulin Rouge. Jadzia was indisposed more often, as the Duke began to grow increasingly possessive, but  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ gave them so many excuses to steal a few minutes "working on the script." 

At first, they genuinely did work on the script together, enjoying each other's company and getting to know one another outside of the thrill of infatuation, but very soon, they found themselves discovering something deeper, an understanding and mutual respect that only enhanced the heat behind each stolen kiss and knowing look. Nerys was worried that her writing would suffer, but rather, she found herself able to write with more depth, more description, more richness of lyric than she had before. Minimalism morphed into lush extravagance that fit the opulent excess of  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ perfectly.

"And then what happens?" Jadzia asked, during an intimate liaison in Nerys' apartment, wrapped up in blankets on Nerys' bed while Nerys held a sheaf of papers in front of her, trying not to laugh as she acted out the scene she had written earlier that day.

"Stop looking at me," Nerys protested, waving at Jadzia who was trying hard not to laugh.

"But I want to know! We've been waiting for this for days!"

"I can't do this when you're watching!"

"Fine, I'll face the wall," Jadzia laughed, making a show of turning away.

Nerys fought back a wave of embarrassment as she began to talk through the scene, trying hard not to laugh. "Alright, so the evil maharajah becomes mad with jealousy and convinces the courtesan to tell the penniless sitar player that she doesn't love him."

"That's terrible!" Jadzia said, visibly fighting the urge to turn around and meet Nerys' eyes.

"And so the sitar player storms into the palace and confronts the courtesan, throwing a handful of money at her feet, and he says," Nerys paused, swallowed, then lowered her voice to match Worf's baritone, "'Thank you for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love!'"

"No!" Jadzia turned around, giving Nerys a mock horrified expression.

"No, but that's not the end!"

"It had better not be!"

"The magical sitar--"

A knock at the door interrupted Nery's explanation.

"Who is it?"

"It's Nog!" came a voice.

Nerys chuckled and went to open the door, holding it open a crack. "I'm busy."

"Is Jadzia there?" Nog asked, totally innocent.

"Um," Nerys said.

"Yes, Nog, I'm here," Jadzia called out, hopping off the bed and pulling her dressing robe tighter about herself.

"Are you rehearsing?" Nog asked, his voice suddenly suspicious.

"What do you want, Nog?" Nerys asked, her voice growing frosty.

"I wanted to know how the confrontation scene is going. That's my big scene!"

"Come in, Nog," Jadzia said.

Nerys gave her a shocked look, but Jadzia just smiled and shook her head, indicating that she wasn't worried. Nerys sighed and opened the door for Nog who bounded in like an eager puppy. He gave the rumpled bedclothes a quick glance, but then sat down, eyes bright and eager. "Alright, tell me what you've got!"

It took Nerys a few seconds to regain her composure, but then she looked down at her script and filled Nog in on the scene so far.

"And then," she said, willing her heartbeat to calm down, "as the sitar player walks away, leaving the courtesan bereft and shattered, the magical sitar shouts," she paused to give Nog a wink, "'The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return,' his voice echoing throughout the palace." Nerys paused to smile as Jadzia and Nog reacted with enthusiastic applause, her nervousness disappearing. She went on, glancing at the pages, "And so the sitar player returns to the courtesan and they begin plotting their escape from the palace!"

"I love it," Jadzia said, giving Nerys a look that seemed more than simple entertainment. There was longing and gratitude in those beautiful eyes, and it made Nerys weak in the knees. If she could spirit Jadzia away from Duke Dukat now, leave him to wallow in his own insecurity and loneliness forever while she and Jadzia started a new life somewhere, she would, but the risk was just too great.

Nog shot them both a look and then hopped off the bed. "Well, I should be going. I'm overseeing the rehearsals for the chorus dance at the end of Act One."

"Nog," Nerys said, moving to his side and placing a hand on his shoulder. "If you could . . . not tell anyone that--"

"Everyone knows," he said, simply.

Her heart ran cold.

"Everyone but the Duke," he added with a wink. "And Quark. He'd never understand. Don't worry. We won't say anything."

Nerys couldn't find any words. Jadzia spoke up, "Thank you, Nog."

Nog gave an understanding smile. "But be careful, you two. I'm happy for you, but I don't know if we can keep this secret for much longer."

Nerys, unused to Nog showing such discretion and responsibility, leaned forward and pulled the man into a hug. "We really appreciate it," she said.

"Alright alright," he said, suddenly embarrassed. "I'm going. But you should join us! The dancers are outstanding!"

"We will," Jadzia said over Nerys's shoulder, and soon he was gone.

Nerys turned around and, somewhat flushed, said, "We probably should . . . go over . . ."

Jadzia put her hands around Nerys' shoulders and planted a soft kiss on Nerys' lips, her voice a delicate whisper. "In a bit," she said.

Nerys smiled.

The next day, the whole cast was rehearsing the opening to Act Two and Nerys saw Jadzia standing off to the side, reading her copy of the script while the Duke loomed above her like a vulture. Nog was up on the newly expanded stage, directing a troupe of background dancers on placement, his voice filling the whole room and drawing all attention to himself. Using the distraction, Nerys stepped over to Jadzia and adopted her most casual tone. "Miss Dax," she began, her gaze fixed on the papers. "I was wondering if you might be free to discuss scene three tonight. I'd like your input on your dialogue."

The Duke's voice cut between them like a sword blade. "My dear, I had arranged a supper for us in the Gothic Tower tonight."

Nerys nodde, chastened. "We can do it another time."

Jadzia rose suddenly, stately as a queen. "That scene is important." She shot the Duke an apologetic look. "I must apologize. This show is important to everyone, and I must keep my focus on my work for the time."

"My dear," the Duke protested.

"Not another word," Jadzia said, her voice matching his steel coldness. "I do not want to disappoint my castmates. This show is your investment. I want it to be perfect." She smiled a little. "You deserve the recognition of producing something extraordinary. I can't afford to cut corners." With that, she walked with Nerys, a respectful distance between the two, and left the hall.

"They're calling you," Jadzia said, pushing at Nerys.

Nerys nodded, wiping a smear of Jadzia's lipstick from her lower lip, trying hard not to laugh. The heavy curtain concealing them rippled as Nerys fought to find the way out of their hiding place. She knew they were being irresponsible, knew they were jeopardizing everything. Jadzia loathed spending time with the Duke, and every time they invented an excuse to be together, the Duke somehow accepted it. Every time, the excuses got flimsier, and their judgment got weaker. She could see the looks the cast and crew shot them, some embarrassed at their lack of judgement, others terrified that they would be discovered. Nerys knew she needed to stop, needed to back away, but she couldn't help herself. And neither could Jadzia.

Finding the way out, she pulled the drapery aside and froze as Quark glared at her. 

"I'm . . ." Nerys began.

"Get back to work," he said, his tone tight and terse.

As Nerys hustled away, she heard Quark's angry hissing admonishment at Jadzia, the words lost but the tone clear enough. If he knew, it was only a matter of time before the Duke found out. And if that happened . . .

Nerys rounded a corner, stopping abruptly as The Duke's manservant Weyoun greeted her with a genteel smile.

"Have you lost your way?" he asked, his voice casual.

"No," Nerys said, wishing she could get away.

"I won't take up too much of your time," he said, approaching her slowly. "But I wanted to pass on a message."

"From whom?"

Weyoun smiled. "From myself." He took a deep breath. "I know what you're doing."

"And what is that?" she asked, her tone growing bolder, fuelled by terror and anger.

"I understand why you would engage in such behavior," he said, his smile oily. "It's a thrill, isn't it?" His smile vanished. "I'm giving you one chance to stop this sordid affair. I've kept the Duke in ignorance for now, but your idiocy is threatening everything. If you don't stop now, I will tell the Duke everything, regardless of how it destroys your silly little show."

"What gives you the right--" she began.

"Don't ever try to lecture me, young lady. I'm the one with the power, here. I could make you disappear, and no one would be the wiser. Your lady friend would think you'd simply ran off without her."

Nerys swallowed.

Weyoun's smile returned. "Now that you understand the situation, I trust there will be no more indiscretions?"

Nerys nodded, and then asked, "Why haven't you told the Duke about this already?"

He gave her a patronizing look. "My dear, this show has the potential to increase the Duke's prestige. That can only help me in my . . . my future endeavors."

"You're trying to get away from him, too?"

Weyoun's smile wavered. "Not at all. I'm a devoted servant. But . . . if anything . . . untoward were to happen to the Duke, I would like the option to seek out new opportunities with a sterling record."

Nerys felt a chill up the back of her spine. "I understand."

"I'm glad," he said, reaching up to tap the brim of his hat before vanishing off into the shadows.

It took Nerys a full several minutes before she could move again, paralyzed by sudden terror as she was. Her first instinct was to run to Jadzia and break everything off right away, but she couldn't bear to do that. It was the safe action, but it would devastate them both. She wanted to see this through to the end, liberating Jadzia once it was all over, but the talons of realism were digging into her sides. The longer this went on, the more precarious their situation would become. And they were no longer endangering the success of the show, they were endangering their lives. 

For the first time, the Duke's power and viciousness seemed more immediate, more apparent. He was no longer an obstacle; he was an opponent, and not one they could defeat easily. She needed to talk to Jadzia, but not now. It would be harder to find a moment alone with her, but they needed to talk. And the possibility that such a talk would end what they had rose in her throat like a sudden lump and she found herself fighting back sudden tears.

  
  



	15. Backstage Romace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero shares an emotional moment with her true love

Jadzia did not meet Nerys that evening. The next day, she was nowhere in sight. The night after that, Nerys went to the Moulin Rouge, and again there was no sight of Jadzia.

"Nog?" she asked, approaching the director who was inexplicably draped in several feather boas of varying hues.

"Ah, come over!" he said, "I was just choosing chorus dancer costume pieces for the finale. I like the light pink. Which color do you like?"

Nerys glanced at the boas and vaguely grabbed the end of a white one flecked with light blue. "This one's nice. But that's not why I'm here. Have you seen Jadzia?"

Nog's face fell slightly. "You just missed her. I think she went to find you, actually."

Nerys let out a breath. "Alright, thanks." But just as she was turning away, Nog grabbed her arm. 

"She's not been well the past couple days. Please don't drop anything heavy on her. She's still recovering."

Nerys turned and shot him a confused look. "Sick? Is she okay?"

"I don't know. I think so. She keeps it to herself, mostly."

"I have to go," Nerys said, turning and sweeping out of the Moulin Rouge, ignoring everyone who tried to stop her. By the time she reached her apartment, she found Jadzia waiting outside her door.

"Are you okay?" Nerys asked, without a word of greeting.

Jadzia gave a small smile. "I think so."

Nerys stepped forward, unlocked her door, and led Jadzia inside. They sat on her bed, side-by-side, for a full minute before speaking.

"Where were you the other night?" Nerys asked, feeling awful as soon as she'd asked it.

"I was sick," Jadzia said, her eyes pained. "I'm sorry I never got the chance to tell you."

"I knew you had that dinner with the Duke planned."

Jadzia shook her head. "I never made it. Quark said he kept the Duke from walking out somehow, but I never asked how." 

"I'm sorry," Nerys said. "I hope you're recovering."

"It's nothing."

"You've been gone for two days." There was an agonizing pause. "Does it have to do with why you passed out when we were talking in the elephant? And during your performance?"

Jadzia winced. "I get short of breath sometimes. It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I am."

Nerys swallowed, then took a dangerous plunge. "Why don't I believe you?"

Jadzia gave her a hard look, and then her face softened. "You . . ." She shook her head. "The doctor thinks I might have something . . . bad. But he's not sure. I'm trying to be positive."

Nerys' spine chilled. "Is it . . . ?" She didn't want to say the terrible word.

Jadzia shook her head. "I don't think so." She smiled. "All day breathing in strong perfumes and incense is bound to give anyone trouble.  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ will change all this."

Nerys wasn't entirely convinced, but she decided to move the topic into stronger territory. "Once this show is done, you and I can get away from all this."

Jadzia's expression soured. "I've been thinking about that. I will have to sleep with the Duke on opening night. I know you'll be jealous. What if we just end it now while we're happy?"

"What?"

Jadzia moved into what was obviously a rehearsed speech. "I really don't have that promising a future. I tell the Duke that because we need his money, but I'm not the actress everyone thinks I am."

"You're incredible," Nerys insisted.

"You're idealizing me."

"I probably am, but anyone would have to be insane not to see your potential. Your dream of being an actress is attainable."

Jadzia shook her head. "Everyone knows about us. Even Quark."

"I know he caught us," Nerys said, sadly.

"He's keeping our secret, but I don't know for how much longer. Nerys, we have to end this. The Duke is growing suspicious, and I fear he might react violently if he finds out."

Nerys hung her head, thinking of her meeting with the Duke's manservant. "There must be some way we can get away from him," she said, looking up at Jadzia's eyes.

"I don't know how we can."

Nerys played with a corner of her bedsheet for a few seconds before saying, "We just have to make it to the end of the show. We can stay apart. I promise I won't get jealous."

"But I don't want to stay apart from you," Jadzia said. 

"Nor I," Nerys said, her mind poring over their options. "What if . . .?" She considered some options, grasping at fragments and hastily assembling them into something that might help. "What if we re-write the end of the show? We'll throw in a little something that will remind one another that we care for one another. That we . . . we love each other?" She waited an agonizing few seconds to gauge Jadzia's reaction, but the dark-haired woman's face was impassive and still. Nerys continued. "I'll write a secret song for the sitar player and the courtesan. And every time you and I hear that, we'll be reminded of what we have, even though we're apart. You can play your role on stage and with the Duke, and we'll know the truth."

Jadzia gave Nerys a measured look, and then the corner of her mouth twitched. "Thank you."

Nerys cocked her head. "For what?"

"For understanding."

"Well, I don't know if I really understand all this. But I'll support you. You are an incredible actress. And the Duke seems like the kind of person who bores of all his conquests. As soon as he makes his fortune from  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ , he'll be off to prey on some other poor girl." At Jadzia's wince, Nerys quickly backtracked. "I mean. I'm sorry, that was insensitive. You don't . . . care for him, do you?"

"Of course not," Jadzia said, the corner of her eyes misting over. "I just hate being reminded so callously of what I am to him."

Nerys felt Jadzia's pain as a physical stab of regret. How could she have said that? "You're worth ten of him," she said, reaching up to cup Jadzia's cheek. "He's a monster. You can escape from him."

"But not before he uses me up."

Nerys didn't know how to respond to that. She felt helpless and clueless, like a child trying to fix a broken cup and only shattering it further. "How can I help?" she asked, trying not to grow overwhelmed at her fury at the Duke and at Quark for their treatment of Jadzia.

"Just be there," she said. "And, I think you should write a secret song for the show. I like that idea." Jadzia's gaze became distant.

"Can I," Nerys began, her voice quiet, "can I ask how you came to work at the Moulin Rouge?"

Jadzia paused, but didn't flinch. 

"You don't have to tell me," Nerys said.

"No, I want to tell you," Jadzia said, after a few minutes, the words coming out as a sigh. "My parents died when I was about thirteen or so. An illness. I had no family who could take me in and so I ended up on the street. I quickly learned that the best way to survive was to be entertaining. I joined a theatre troupe for a while, but I ran away from them when the owner tried to attack me one night. That was when I found Worf, Elim, and Miles. They let me into their little Bohemian group. We had no money and didn't eat much, but at least we were there for one another. Eventually, Nog and Julian joined us. It was Nog who suggested I get a job at the Moulin Rouge. I think he thought he was in love with me, but I made it clear I wasn't interested. He continued to talk to Quark, though, and arranged a meeting, which then became an audition.

"I had no idea what the Moulin Rouge really was, but even after I realized what a terrible place it can be at times, I decided to stay. I had regular meals for the first time and didn't have the constant terror of freezing to death every winter's night. My theatre training helped me rise to prominence as a performer, which meant that I became a courtesan for the higher-paying clients. Not pleasant at all, but it meant that I had fewer clients as I could afford to be selective."

"You did what you had to in order to survive," Nerys said, wishing she could envelop Jadzia like a blanket and offer her complete and utter security and comfort. She settled for leaning against the other woman and hugging her toward her, her head resting on Jadzia's shoulder.

"I feel so guilty about it at times," Jadzia said.

"Don't," Nerys said, sitting up. "You took charge of a bad situation, and you chose the option that kept you alive. The person those men spend the night with is a character you create. You're not debased or any less valuable because of it. You are alive and you now have an opportunity to escape. You're using Quark as much as he's using you. And now you're strong enough that you can fly away."

"How are you so wise, Kira Nerys?" Jadzia asked, settling back into a comfortable embrace.

"I'm not," Nerys said with a slight laugh. "I guess I just like seeing the rules of the world burn. Because if the rules don't matter, then it's not wrong for me to love you."

Jadzia smiled. "Who needs rules, anyway?" And then they kissed, the harsh, terrifying realities of the world fading into the background as they enjoyed a perfect moment here in the present, far away from all who might hurt them. 


	16. Chandelier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero finds herself in an impossible situation.

Everyone was tense at the next evening's rehearsals. But when Nerys and Jadzia arrived nearly twenty minutes apart, the tension began to gently ebb like a receding tide. Every minute that Nerys and Jadzia didn't share a glance, or speak to one another, or maintain at least several body lengths between them, the tension decreased further. By the time the Duke arrived to oversee things, it was easy for everyone to believe that their show would go on, with no further threats to its success. 

The Duke wore a grim, charcoal suit, his bearing that of an undertaker waiting at the bedside of a dying noble whose lavish funeral would pay his expenses for months. His smile was arrogant and curling, the smile of one who is confident that life will go on, everything falling into place his favor. Nerys froze at the sight of him, but then quickly returned to her task at hand, handing out the script sheets for the final scene.

"Anyways," Nerys continued, forcing her tone to remain casual. "In this scene, the courtesan will agree to remain with the maharajah for a time, but the penniless sitar player will write a secret song that the lovers can share, so they can maintain some kind of connection during the courtesan's time with the maharajah. The song will give the courtesan the strength she needs to endure despite the predations of her captor. And then, in the final moments, the courtesan will poison the maharajah, when he's grown confident that he has won, and the courtesan escapes with the sitar player. The two of them sing their secret song as they walk off together into a future filled with possibilities, and the entire chorus will join in as they escape, culminating in a massive, celebratory musical number."

The room erupted in congratulatory applause as everyone began furiously reading their script pages, desperate to see how they would feature in the lover's triumph. Nerys made a point not to look at Jadzia, but the pages in her hands contained all she needed. She could see Jadzia in the script, overcoming the Duke and escaping his clutches. She could see her coming back to Nerys where they could form a new life far away. The knowledge gave her strength.

"Absolutely not."

The voices and sounds died all at once.

"My dear Duke," Quark began, pushing past dancers, "Are you not happy with the show? We can change anything you'd like."

Duke Dukat strode into the centre of the room, practically glowing with self-importance. "Why would the courtesan not choose the maharajah?"

Silence fell, but Quark quickly banished it. "The maharajah--my character, that is--is the villain. The audience will be expecting to see love triumph over evil. It's clearly--"

"The maharajah is offering the courtesan security and comfort. She will want for nothing and know only lavish adornment. Why would she give that up to spend her life with a penniless wri . . . sitar player." The sneer that followed made it very clear that the Duke had not stumbled over the word "writer" by accident. "Money and power are what the courtesan needs to be safe. Why would she ever go with an urchin with no prospects?"

"Because I love her!" Nerys shouted, feeling her face blaze into furious heat as she glared directly at the Duke.

The silence deepened to a funereal stillness. Nerys glared continuously at the Duke, willing her eyes to bore burning holes in his smug form, but only because she couldn't bear to look at anyone else. She felt exposed, like a bleeding wound, burning and oozing blood for all to see. There would be no going back from this.

The Duke smiled, and then he laughed. "I see how it is." He laughed again. "This is more delicious than I could have expected. And for all to see. My dear, you are in trouble, now. The Duke turned to Weyoun who hovered in the shadows to the left. "I believe we have something to report to the police."

"Duke Dukat, darling," came a strong voice. Nerys couldn't look at Jadzia just now, so she closed her eyes and willed her heart to slow to a less fatal gallop. Jadzia's voice continued, calm and smooth as fresh silk. "You know how these silly Bohemians are. They become so caught up in their ridiculous ideals that they lose sight of reality."

Nerys could hear Jadzia's gown gliding across the wood floors, whispering as though they spoke the truth she was concealing beneath the facade of lies she wove with the Duke. Jadzia's voice became more sensuous. "I apologize for how appallingly we have treated you. Of course the ending can be rewritten. Think nothing of it. Your ideas are brilliant. What I think we need right now is a private meeting just you and I in the Gothic Tower. I hope to prove to you there exactly where my passions truly lie. Forget the writer. She's not worth the effort."

Nerys knew Jadzia was telling the Duke whatever he needed to hear, but hearing such cold words coming out of Jadzia's lips stabbed at Nerys. She kept her eyes shut.

Jadzia's voice raised to address the whole room. "You will afford Duke Dukat the respect he deserves." Muffled affirmations followed this as everyone agreed. "After all, this show could not exist without his patronage. Perhaps a demonstration of his beneficence would be apropos, right now." Nerys could hear whispering, and then the Duke spoke up, his voice calmer.

"I was going to announce this anyway. And it seems a shame to waste it."

Nerys allowed herself to open her eyes, but quickly turned to face the cast and crew. They were all looking upward, and so she followed their gaze, seeing the muslin-wrapped chandelier hanging in the centre of the ceiling. The Duke must have made a gesture--she only saw it out of the corner of her eyes--because with a jerk of a rope, the muslin fell away, fluttering to the ground like a fallen shroud. Everyone drew in their breath at once.

Strings of fine crystal and polished metal glittered in even the dim light of the stage. The old chandelier had been completely replaced. Where the old had been minimalistic and elegant, the new one was opulent and suggested royalty rather than a classy night on the town. Gleaming brass filigree arced like fountain streams, surrounded by mirror-smooth facets trembling on numerous spider-silk strings.

The Duke's haughty voice sullied the pure stunning extravagance of the chandelier. "Modeled on the legendary candle-flame centerpiece of the Opera Populaire that famously fell amid a performance of  _ Il Mutto _ , this work of art is the first fully electric chandelier of its kind. May we banish the darkness of indiscretion and scandal by illuminating it just for a few moments? Weyoun?"

"Am I not to contact the authorities, milord?"

There was a pause. "No, Weyoun." Nerys could feel the Duke's gaze boring into the back of her head. "This theatrical house must present an honest face to the public when it opens. No scandals or deviant behaviour. I think everyone here knows their place just now. Come, my dear, we have a liaison to prepare."

"Darling, shouldn't we wait and see the chandelier illuminated?" Jadzia sounded uncertain.

"You will see it on opening night, my dear."

Nerys desperately wanted to look at Jadzia, to give her a comforting look as the Duke hauled her away, but all she could do was look up at the grand chandelier, ignoring the struggles of Jadzia's shoes on the wood floors as she was roughly hauled off to the Gothic Tower where she would save them all by sleeping with the Duke. 

Nerys' eyes burned again, but not with rage, with terror. Tears began to flow freely, blurring her vision just as Weyoun pulled a lever, turning the chandelier into a blazing star of watery light. Nerys couldn't see clearly, but she kept watching, hoping the blur of brilliant electric fire would burn away the fear that she had come a hair's breadth away from being dragged away and imprisoned. He knew, now. How could she have been so stupid? The Duke knew everything, now.

She hated herself. She hated the Duke. She hated Quark for working with that monster. She hated everything. If she were not surrounded by so many people, she would break down into despairing sobs, but she needed to keep up the act that would save them all. And so she stared, and let everyone else around her think that she was dazzled by the chandelier's beauty and not fighting back racking sobs at Jadzia's impending sacrifice.

Someone's hand rested gently on her shoulder. She couldn't see who it was and she didn't care. She reached up and patted the hand, grateful that someone else was there.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, her voice small and bubbling with tears.

Worf answered, his voice calm, but firm as granite. "We wait."

Nerys nodded. "I thought that was what you were going to say."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so yes, I shamelessly borrowed the chandelier from Phantom of the Opera. Sue Me. I needed something big enough to distract from the revelation of Nerys and Jadzia's relationship which, unlike in the original film, is much more illegal and terrifying in this day and age. Also, the Broadway version of MR includes a version of Sia's Chandelier, so I needed to make the title make sense.


	17. El Tango de Roxanne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero hears a sad story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who know MR, you know kind of what's coming, but I'll throw up a content warning for violence against women just in case.

Nerys felt the eyes of the cast and crew on her as she sank into a seat to the side of the stage. At first, no one breathed, then there were gentle whispers, then the whispers grew louder, and then conversation returned like the sound of insects celebrating the dimming light of evening. This was followed by the rustle and thuds of work as everyone returned to the task at hand.

"So, I'm confused," came a female voice from a group of dancers. "Are we changing the ending or not?"

"I don't know, Leeta," another dancer replied, sounding exhausted. "Let's just stick to what we know. The show opens, what, tomorrow? Day after tomorrow? There's no way we can pull a different finale out of our petticoats this late."

Nerys looked up. Amid the work of finalizing set pieces and informal clusters of rehearsals, eyes constantly veered her way, as though waiting for her to explode into a fury and burn everything to the ground. Lord knows, that's what Nerys wanted to do right now, if only to keep from imagining what was about to happen to Jadzia in a few hours in the Gothic Tower.

"I wouldn't worry, Missus Shakespeare," came a slimy voice. Mr. Brunt, one of the backstage crew, sauntered her way, looking disgustingly pleased with himself. "You'll get your ending. The Duke just needs to get his, first!" The man's repellant laughter shocked Nerys out of her stupor and she charged forward, on her feet in seconds. She towered over him, feeling as though she wanted to rip his smug face from his head, when another voice interrupted them.

"That's enough," Elim said, appearing at Nerys' side, one hand shielding Brunt from her wrath. Nerys slowly began to relax, and Elim turned to Brunt. "I don't see you doing anything useful, my friend. How about you actually do some work for a change?"

Brunt didn't move.

"Now," Elim said, his normally aloof voice carrying a hint of danger in it. With a disgusted exhalation, Brunt turned and vanished into the crowd. His eyes softening, he turned back to Nerys. "I can't say I didn't warn you because I never, in a million years, expected things to turn out as they have, but my best advice is to forget her and move on. You're doing no favours by endangering us all."

"You have no idea what this is like," she spat at Elim.

His voice grew quieter, but hardened. "I know  _ exactly  _ what this is like. And if Julian was a high-profile composer--which he rightly deserves, I should add--I would most likely not be with him. We're a fluke, a chance meeting of two mediocre artists who have been gifted with anonymity. You and Jadzia are . . . something more."

"I can't give her up," Nerys said, forcing her voice to remain strong.

"If you fall in love with someone who sells herself for money," Elim said, "it can only end in disaster."

"She's not a whore, Mister Garak," Nerys bit at him. "She's not some wanton who gave up a beautiful life to engage in self-serving lewdness." Her temper flared to life once more and she couldn't stop her voice from growing louder. "She is strong. She's surviving, using what she had to keep herself alive. She's not a tainted person because of it, either. She's going to rise above all this and become something better."

Elim remained calm. "I applaud your optimism, but quite frankly, my dear, I don't think you understand anything."

"I understand love, Elim," Nerys said. "That's enough. I won't have you turn what we have into some kind of lurid affair."

"But it is just exactly that," Elim said, "no matter how honorable your intentions are. We all know what the Moulin Rouge is. We've accepted that. Some are farther up the grand staircase than others. I am merely an opportunistic parasite, orbiting this place until I can grab a bite here and there to keep me from starving. If any of us could really become something better, don't you think we'd be pursuing that?"

Nerys was silent.

"You'll have to forgive my negativity," he said, his voice growing gentler. "I have been here far too long to entertain any romantic ideals."

"What about your Bohemian tenets?" Nerys said. "Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and Love? Do they count for anything?"

"They influence my art, but not my reality," he said, bleakly.

When she said nothing in reply, he turned and singled out Nog. "I think this may be a good time to pause for a drink, if you understand my meaning."

The director's voice was clear and enthusiastic. "Absolutely, Mister Garak!"

Soon enough, Nerys, Elim, Worf, Nog, Julian, Miles, and several of the dancers were gathered in a chaotic circle, sitting on boxes and props, as Nog passed around glasses of absinthe. Nerys considered protesting, but the idea of obliterating reality for a while was actually quite comforting, the more she thought of it. 

"You should tell that story!" one of the dancers, Leeta, was saying to a muscular Argentinian man next to her, prodding his arms with a finger. 

"It's not a happy story," the man said. Nerys hadn't seen the man that often. He was one of the dancers, though, his squat beefy frame making him the ideal partner in the sort of acrobatic dances  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ employed. 

"It's relevant, Quique," she said, handing him a sugar cube and glass of chilled water.

Having already poured cold water over her own sugar cube perched above her glass, Nerys removed the bent fork and set it aside, staring at the cloudy green liquid before downing it in one go. The aroma of anise and fennel boiled up the back of her throat as the alcohol burned violently downward. Fighting not to gasp, she said, "We don't need happy stories, right now." Then after suppressing a cough, she added, "What's your name again?"

"Enrique Muñiz," he said, his smile wide and infectious. "My friends call me Quique."

"He's my dance partner," the woman, Leeta, added.

"Well then, Quique," Nerys said, her eyes watering. "Tell us your sad story."

"We'll need another round," Muñiz said, passing around another tray of sugar cubes.

Once they had prepared and downed the next round of shots, Nerys felt her mind growing foggy and detached.

"In the brothels of Buenos Aires," Quique began, his French losing its rigidity and becoming more liquid and fiery. "we have a dance that tells a story of a prostitute and the man who dared to love her..."

Nerys wanted to get away from the story, seeing where it was going, but the pull of the absinthe kept her rooted in place. The room began to slowly tilt and she felt as though the laws of gravity were pushing her towards the Argentinian, his voice captivating and taut as a rope. After fighting, she gave in and allowed herself to tumble fully into the story the man was telling, her senses cloudy and distorted…

* * *

The Tragic Tale of Roxanne

Once upon a time, a star fell from the great dome of heaven and landed in the eye of a poor merchant's son, Julio Ocampo, as he was walking out of mass, his hopes and dreams pure and shining as polished silver. The light of the star burned within him, setting his passions aflame. His mother looked upon him with extreme disapproval, for she had seen the star and she knew what such things did to impressionable young men.

Across town, a woman named Roxanne sat in the occasional shade of a monkey puzzle tree, trying to think of pure things as she dreaded the arrival of the General who would drag her aside and envelop her like a dark cloud of flies, biting and violating and leaving a few coins in his odorous wake. She needed the money, but she wished she didn't. In her mind, she escaped from the General while he moaned and sweated, and became a wild woman of the mountains, living on berries and befriending a pudú, a tiny deer she could hold and cherish. But then, just as she was about to climb the highest peak and blow a kiss to the cloud-wrapped sun, the General would finish and she would have to go and bathe.

Roxanne saw the star fall and wished it had chosen her, for she knew what such lights did to the hearts of impressionable people. She didn't see herself as impressionable, but she wished she was so she could find parents who had always longed for a daughter and offer herself up to be taught and educated and molded into someone smart and stately. She was no child, but she knew she could still change. 

Weary of sitting, she decided to go find the person whom the star had chosen, making a game out of identifying the bright sparkle in their eyes as she waited for the General to come to her in the darkness.

She flew through town, her feet barely touching the stone streets. She imagined her ragged brown scarf billowing behind her like wings but quickly remembered that her adult limbs weren't as accustomed to flying as they were when she was young and supple as green shoots. And so she walked, imagining her rags were a sweeping gown of green satin. There was judgmental fire in the eyes of those who saw her, but she didn't care. She was searching for a different kind of light.

Julio Ocampo saw the woman first, his starry eyes widening as he took in her graceful bearing.

"You fool," his mother said, grabbing his arm. "That is not the kind of woman you need to be looking at."

But the star flared in his eyes and turned the woman's rags into something beautiful and elegant. And green, he decided. He pulled away from his mother's hand, her fingers suddenly becoming claws, and approached the woman.

Roxanne fell in love the instant she saw Julio's eyes, glinting with silver and platinum sparkles. The townspeople frowned at her, shouting at Julio to stay away, but it was too late. They clasped hands in the town square in the disapproving shade of the tall angry church, and a great wind swept through town, fuelled by starfire and lava passion, The wind carried everyone away except for Julio and Roxanne who stood at the center of a great wall of blowing leaves, their ignorance the pure blankness of new love which grew in them, fresh, tender, and desperate for the sun.

They walked throughout the entire town, free of judgmental looks. He told her of his work, and she deftly avoided speaking of hers. Even though he knew who she was, he pretended that he had never heard of any of the rumours surrounding her. She was a new being, a shining sculpture filled to bursting with possibility. 

But then a great cloud covered the sun and the General stepped out of an alleyway huffing and red-faced. 

"You dare to take what's mine," he said, his growls shaking the town like thunder.

"I was never yours," she shouted, clasping Julio's hand tighter. "Only borrowed from time to time."

"Borrowed from whom? You belong to no one except me." The General pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Julio, raging like a forest fire. The boxes of flowers out front the nearest house shuddered, nearly ready to wilt under the blast of the General's rage.

"I love her not for what others see her as," Julio declared, "but for what she really is."

"I saw the star," the General sneered. "You're not seeing the world for what it is."

"And what is the world?" Roxanne challenged. "You wish it to be gray and angry, but I see colour and life. I see what it can be."

The flowers behind the General burst into flame and his eyes narrowed. "You know nothing!" he shouted, cocking the gun with a shaking hand.

Julio leapt in front of Roxanne, ready to give his life for hers, when he felt strong hands clutch his shoulders and pull him aside, just as the gun went off. They stood frozen for a few silent moments before Roxanne fell to her knees, a stream of blood weaving its way down the ripped fabric of her tattered clothes.

Julio's eyes burned with pain and fury and he turned on the General, seeing him as a great dark cloud rumbling with lightning and hailstones, and he charged him, determined to wrest the gun from his hands and take his revenge for the death of Roxanne who breathed her last on the stone road, un-held and cold.

The General's gun barked a second time and Julio felt the bullet pierce the glowing star's core within him. The light shattered and clawed Julio's insides into wet red streamers. The General laughed to himself and vanished into the shadows, grateful that he could spend his coins elsewhere that night.

Julio tried to crawl his way back to Roxanne, but his heart, so overtaxed with love, gave out, leaving an arm span between them as they died, sprawled like dolls in the street. The trickle of blood from each of their wounds was the only thing to touch, forming a glistening ruby heart between them.

And although Julio's distraught mother arranged a grand funeral in the church, no one in town mourned the loss of the woman named Roxanne, though no one in town could ever scrub away the ruby heart that marked the place where she and Julio had died for love.

* * *

Nerys staggered out of the hall, her head swimming with the after-effects of the absinthe. She wanted to throw up, but more than that, she wanted to find Jadzia and save her from the Duke. She didn't deserve what was about to happen to her, regardless of whether or not it was her choice.  _ Spectacular Spectacular  _ would go up in flames, but she didn't care. She needed to save her love from a monster.

A hand grabbed her arm. "Leave me alone," she said.

The young man finally spoke, stopping her in her tracks. "I want to help."

Nerys turned to see the earnest face of Jake, Quark's all-purpose assistant who arranged meetings and passed on messages. Nerys sighed. "It's dangerous."

"I don't care."

Endangering a teenage boy would normally not fall under the list of things Nerys would ever do, but she knew she could never get rid of him, so she nodded and they went toward the Gothic Tower together.

Nerys's legs were burning by the time she made it to the top of the stairs, but she could hear shrieks and thuds coming from the other side of the door at the top, so she kept running, the absinthe in her blood burning as though she'd ignited it with a candle flame. But just before they reached the final landing, Jake suddenly shoved her aside, stopping her momentum.

"What are you--" she began.

"Hide behind this tapestry," he hissed. "I can get in trouble. Not you. Quark won't fire me."

And with that, Jake dashed up the last few steps and pounded on the door. "Is everything okay?" he asked. Nerys pulled back behind a black tapestry as the door flew open and the Duke loomed in the doorway, sweaty and dishevelled. There was blood on his knuckles.

"Jake!" screamed a voice from inside the room that made Nerys' knees turn to water. What had the Duke been doing to her? She thought, the urge to vomit returning.

Nerys looked out just in time to see Jake's fist connecting with the side of the Duke's face, the pale slack face tumbling down, the Duke's unconscious body tumbling like a doll down the steps to rest in a tangle at the nearest landing, right at Nerys' feet.

Spurred by adrenaline, Nerys dashed out from behind the tapestry and dashed up the stairs into the room. Jadzia was sobbing, sitting amid the wreckage of a destroyed diamond necklace. Her dress was ripped down one leg, and there was blood trickling from her nose. 

Nerys fell to enfold the shuddering Jadzia into her arms, sobbing freely.

"I just couldn't go through with it," Jadzia cried, panicked with terror. "I love you, and he knows about us, and--"

"You're safe, now," Nerys said. "Go find Quark," she cried at Jake. "We have to get her out of here before the Duke wakes up."

And then she pulled Jadzia close to her, unwilling to ever let her go again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Roxanne story is my pitiful attempt to pay homage to South American magic realism. I am not Hispanic, and therefore there is no way I could ever do the genre justice, nor would I ever try to as that would be terribly appropriative. But if you want to read TRUE masters of the genre, I highly recommend One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel.


	18. One Day I'll Fly Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero and her lady love concoct a plan of action.

Eager to get away from the Moulin Rouge and the Duke, Nerys and Jadzia fled to Nerys' apartment, barely breathing until they had closed the door behind them with a satisfying click of metal and wood. Nerys felt shockingly numb, detached, and empty. A glance at Jadzia restored her panic instincts, at least, and she immediately grabbed a towel and the ewer, pouring the last of the cold liquid into the absorbent fabric. 

"You're okay, now," Nerys said, dabbing at Jadzia's tender cheek and wiping away the slight streak of blood running down to her lips. "You don't have to tell me what happened. Just relax." She inspected the impact. Most likely the Duke's fist. But it was a glancing blow. There shouldn't be too large of a bruise. The bloodied nose was the worst of it. It still made Nerys furiously sick to see it.

Jadzia spoke, her voice quiet and thick with emotion. "I was ready to go through with it." She shuddered suddenly as though reliving a violating touch and then continued. "But he could tell I didn't love him. I don't know what awful deluded part of his brain made him think that I could ever love him, but he seemed genuinely shocked that my affections could possibly lie elsewhere."

"He's a monster," Nerys said, grabbing a comb and smoothing out Jadzia's ragged sweaty hair, her tone calm despite the distant fury that would boil back up to the surface once she could think clearly.

"I don't know what to do. I can't go back," Jadzia said, her tone desolate and haggard. It was so unlike her. Nerys felt another wave of pity as she saw the effects of the Duke's brutal abuse on her spirit.

"We'll leave," Nerys said simply. "We'll pack up and we'll run off. Tonight. Far away from the Duke."

"But everyone else . . ."

Nerys stopped combing. "I know. But what else can we do?" The thought of abandoning her friends hurt her. They had given her so much, and she owed them more than vanishing into the night. And what of her employer? Mistress Keiko had never been unkind or demanding, and had given her a job with no references. Did she deserve to lose a staff member sight-unseen? Nerys sighed, faced with a vision of she and Jadzia fighting to run while tethered to great stone blocks via multiple chains. 

They had to leave, though. The Duke wouldn't let Nerys live after this. His jealousy was razor-sharp and swung through the air with the force of his aristocratic power and privilege. Nerys felt suddenly ashamed of her hubris, and then became angry that she, a poor writer with no future, could possibly feel guilty for upsetting a wealthy man whose financial stability and peace of mind would not be so much as cracked by what Nerys did, even though she was now considering leaving her friends and job and hurling herself into a destitute future with no set plan.

"I don't know," Nerys said, finally, grabbing Jadzia's hands and holding them tight, shaking her head mindlessly.

Jadzia took a shaky breath and then seemed to steady herself, her eyes focusing and growing hard. "I think I can get us out of this."

"What if the Duke . . . ?" Nerys trailed off, unsure what the Duke would do to Jadzia.

"Exactly," Jadzia said, giving Nerys a sad smile. "The Duke won't hurt me in any permanent way. He wants me. He knows he can't have me, but he wants to believe that he can."

"You're going to offer yourself to him again?" Nerys bit out, feeling utterly wretched. "That didn't work before."

"I've dealt with arrogant narcissists like him, before," Jadzia said, a wicked glint brightening her sad eyes. Nerys smiled, glad to see Jadzia's strength and confidence returning to the set of her mouth. 

As much as Nerys wanted to hold Jadzia and tend to her and comb her hair and whisper platitudes to her, she knew that Jadzia's own cool strength was her greatest asset. Whereas Nerys operated on a pendulum swinging from fiery movement to the glowing stillness of an ember, Jadzia was like a river, languid and tranquil at times, and roaring with calculating power at others, never giving into temper or righteous indignation. Jadzia was in control of her power at all times, drawing men in with it while controlling their distance at all times. What she didn't need was Nerys charging in, ready to burn down the Moulin Rouge and free everyone inside. 

"I trust you," Nerys said, drawing Jadzia's hands up to her lips and kissing them.

"I'm glad," Jadzia said, "because I'm going to need you to trust what I need to do, regardless of how it might affect you."

"You're not . . ." Nerys couldn't even begin to voice what she thought.

"I'm a good actress, Nerys," Jadzia said. "And though I can't make the Duke believe I truly love him, I can give him the illusion he really wants: the satisfaction that nothing is beyond his power. That there is nothing he can't have, nothing he can't manipulate. He wants me because he knows he cannot have me. I'm a rare objet d'art that he wants to acquire, not a person with thoughts and emotions. I can play into that, at least until the show opens."

Nerys nodded. "So we're doing Act 2, then?"

Jadzia smiled. "They do say that art imitates reality. Although I care for you too much to trick you into thinking I don't love you so as to force you away. You're smarter than that."

"So what should I do?"

"Keep out of sight. Hide away. Do not come to the Moulin Rouge under any circumstances." If the Duke sees you, he will have you turned over to the police. He may even just kill you on the spot."

Nerys shuddered, thinking of Weyoun's slick, dangerous smile. She nodded. "Break a leg," Nerys said, the fear of giving up all responsibility for Jadzia's safety fluttering madly in her chest like a trapped insect. Jadzia would return to the Moulin Rouge alone, with no allies at her side. And Nerys would have to wait, and pray.

"The show must go on," Jadzia breathed in Nerys' ear. Her kiss felt gentle and ethereal as a wisp of perfume, and then she was gone.

And Nerys was alone.


	19. Crazy Rolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero gets a visitor.

The night was brutal, but Nerys was eventually able to sleep. When she did sleep, she had visions of the Duke standing over Jadzia, holding a knife, and awoke, sweating and terrified. Why had she let Jadzia go alone back to him? It was her choice, but was it the right choice? Was there anything else she could do to help Jadzia? Questions passed by, unappealing entries on a depressing buffet of tragedy. She had said she trusted Jadzia, but she hadn't realized what that trust would entail, or rather, what that trust would leave her with. Nerys wanted to act, wanted to do something. But she didn't even have the frenzy of show preparations to look forward to. 

At least she had her work. Although she couldn't get Jadzia out of her mind, the mundane toil around Mistress Keiko's house kept her hands busy. It would be the upcoming idle evening spent alone in her apartment that she dreaded.

"Kira?" her mistress' voice floated through the white hallway. Nerys rose from the fireplace in the drawing room and gave a brief curtsy, looking up just in time to see the tall figure walking just behind her mistress. Duke Dukat's face was so unexpected, Nerys very nearly vomited from terror at the sight of him. How had he found her?

Nerys kept her eyes downcast as her mistress introduced the two of them, sounding confused at why the Duke had come to her house to meet a member of her staff. If it had been any other man, Nerys mused, her mistress would not have admitted him, but privilege allows one to bypass social niceties. Kira didn't meet the Duke's eyes, but she did look at her mistress who was eyeing the Duke with confusion and expectancy, waiting for the reason for such a bizarre meeting to be revealed.

The Duke turned to his hostess and gave her a charming smile. "Might you leave us alone for just a brief moment, my dear?"

Mistress Keiko looked startled. "It wouldn't really be appropriate, now would it. My maid is unmarried."

"Just a brief moment. We know each other via a mutual acquaintance. I assure you, there is nothing untoward between us."

Nerys felt trapped and helpless. Ordinarily, she could hit the Duke or run, but now, she was in another's home, squeezed into the expectation of her job and her need to place her mistress in the best light. Any retaliation against the Duke would reflect poorly on Mistress Keiko and affect her in any number of hurtful ways. Nerys had to be civil, no matter how much she hated it.

"It'll be alright," Nerys assured her mistress. "He'll stay in the hallway and I'll stay here. We can just talk."

The Duke smiled with disgusting satisfaction. "There, you see? Amicable and proper."

Mistress Keiko smiled and gave a curtsy of farewell, bustling off to another room.

"I would appreciate if you'd keep your voice down," the Duke said, his voice lowering, his tone threatening. "But I wanted to update you on the situation."

"Go ahead, then," Nerys said, her voice quiet but no less threatening.

The Duke's smile widened. "Excellent. First, I have to say I applaud your guile, attempting to steal my lady, a woman, from under my nose. But as you know, you've failed."

"Did you just come here to gloat?" Nerys said, teeth clenched.

"I did not, as a matter of fact," he said, leaning easily against the wall. "Miss Dax informed me of your treachery, your manipulations and abuses of her decency, forcing her to perform unspeakable acts on you. Really, it was quite disgusting."

Nerys wanted to shout at him, wanted to strangle him, but settled for a look of burning hatred. Jadzia's act would hurt her. She had warned Nerys of this, but it still made her sick to see the brutal lies Jadzia had been obliged to tell the Duke.

"No denial, I see," the Duke said, his smile disappearing into a grimace of distaste. "She told me everything, the threats of violence, the manipulative seductions. You really are a monster, and if I had my way, I would send you to the police immediately."

Nerys just barely caught herself from saying, "So why don't you?"

The Duke continued. "But your name is attached to the show. The posters have already been printed. You won't see a single franc from the ticket sales, I assure you, though. Your name will be quickly forgotten and will never appear on any future listing. At which time, if you do anything to upset my investment, I will deal with you."

Nerys glared at him but said nothing. The corner of his eye twitched. He was clearly expecting an outburst, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.

"You are also aware that Miss Dax is dying, aren't you?"

Nerys felt her breath stop altogether, her lungs suddenly burning. Dying? 

"Obviously not," he said. "I spoke with a doctor, myself. You know she has a cough, though she hides it well. It will soon kill her."

"No," Nerys said, hating herself for saying anything at all. Was he lying? Desperate to hurt her? She did know about the cough, and the fainting. Though Jadzia had seemed perfectly healthy as of late. Was this part of the act? She could have told the doctor to tell the Duke anything. But what if the Duke had hired his own doctor? What if Jadzia had been hiding the true extent of her illness?  _ I trust you _ . She'd meant it at the time. But did she now?

"I'm truly sorry that my beloved didn't deign to tell you the truth about her."

Beloved? His delusions were growing by the minute. "She means nothing to me," Nerys bit out, hoping uncertainty and fear lent the lie enough emotional veritas.

"I doubt that," the Duke all but purred. "But it gratifies me to be the bearer of such truth."

"What do you really want?" Nerys said, clenching her fists.

"I want you to know that the knowledge of my dear Jadzia's impending death has given me such wonderful ideas for opening night. As soon as the curtain falls, I shall take her to the Gothic Tower."

"I don't want to hear this."

"I know you don't, but you're going to. Taking a woman who's dying means I won't have to be careful with the merchandise. I have a delicate knife I bring out for such scenarios."

Nerys felt violently ill. "You disgusting creature."

"No, that's you," the Duke said. "You're a roach I can easily crush under my boot. And I'm telling you this because once my dear treasure expires, beautiful and lifeless in my arms, I will come for you, and I will do the same thing to you, and there's nowhere you can hide from me."

"Mistress Keiko!" Nerys said, suddenly, raising her voice and backing away. No movement. Had she left? Nerys was about to call out again when her mistress arrived, looking slightly out of breath. She had been in another part of the house, had probably only barely heard her. If the Duke had tried anything, no one would have been close enough to help. She shuddered.

The Duke, poised and smiling casually, bowed pleasantly at Mistress Keiko. "I was actually just leaving, my dear. Your maid has much work to do. I thank you for your time."

And then he was gone. Nerys met the eyes of her employer and affected a calm smile. "I'm nearly done, actually," she said. "Is there anything else you wanted? I'm wondering if I might leave early tonight."

Her mistress' carefully calm expression cracked like a jug and she moved forward to grasp Nerys' hands. "I heard almost everything he told you." She shuddered. "What a despicable man!"

Nerys' eyes widened. "You went away . . ."

"For a few moments," her mistress said. "But then I returned, quietly." She smiled weakly and then her face grew serious. "Who was he talking about? We need to warn her."

"I can do that," Nerys said, dazed by this sudden bizarre coming together of her work and personal life. "Can you contact the police? The woman he was talking about is an actress at the Moulin Rouge."

Her mistress blushed at the mention of such a place and she grimaced. "I can't be associated with such a place."

"Send someone else, then. I don't know. The Duke must be arrested or detailed."

"The authorities will never dare charge a member of the aristocracy . . ."

"Then don't," Nerys said, growing exasperated. "I must warn Jadzia, at any rate. Please, can I go?"

"Absolutely," her mistress said, clearly only prepared to offer emotional support rather than anything tangible.

Nerys was barely able to change from her work clothes fast enough before she was out the door, racing to the Moulin Rouge for what she knew was probably the last time.


	20. The Show Must Go On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero hatches a plan

The main dance hall looked very different by the time Nerys arrived at the Moulin Rouge. Transformed into a grand lobby, well-dressed guests, men and women alike, milled about drinking champagne from the waiters passing around. Gone was the pounding dance music and sweaty dancers. Aristocrats and the Paris elite made polite subdued conversation, glancing every so often at the liveried ushers waiting to the side, ready to start taking tickets once the show-goers began to take their seats in the Moulin Rouge's new grand theatre.

"Do you have a ticket?" a man at the front asked her, taking in Nerys' dusty attire with obvious disdain. She didn't recognize his face; he was probably one of the Duke's men, she surmised.

"I'm the writer for  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ ," she said, her tone casual yet confident. I need to get backstage and offer some last-minute notes to the director, Nog."

The man shook his head. "I'm sorry, but only guests are allowed through here. If you were really part of the cast, you would have arrived when they did."

"I'm not a member of the cast," she said, growing tense. "I'm the writer."

"I know that," the man said, his voice cold. "We were given specific instructions not to allow you in."

Nerys blinked. The Duke had anticipated this. "It's crucial to the show," she insisted.

"If you don't leave now, we will be forced to make you."

Nerys felt rage flare suddenly hot in her cheeks. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, wouldn't I?" the man growled, his face suddenly dangerous as he raised a hand.

"Miss Kira!" a voice shouted, joined by a sudden chaotic scramble of movement as several individuals dashed through the crowd, upsetting tiaras and champagne flutes as they went. Nog led the rabble, followed by Julian, Elim, and Worf in full costume.

Worf strode ahead of the others and grabbed the usher's arm, his own dangerous expression enhanced by the stage makeup he now wore. "You would be wise to let the lady in."

"This is all a great misunderstanding," Nog announced, smiling theatrically. "Kira Nerys is the writer for our show and absolutely must be allowed in."

The usher glared at them all. "If I let her in, I'll tell the Duke. His orders were final."

There was something in the man's voice that brought them up short. Nog looked at Nerys for some kind of reassurance or confirmation, but saw something in her eyes which tamped down his theatrical enthusiasm. Could he sense her terror? "Maybe we should talk outside," Nerys said, forcing her voice to remain calm. "I can pass on my notes to the director out there. No need to cause a scene."

Once outside, Elim stepped forward. "Are you mad? Why have you come back here?"

Nerys tried to remain calm as she told them about the Duke's visit, his threat of violence, and his sadistic plans for Jadzia after the show, but she found herself growing more frantic and angry as she spoke. "I don't care what the Duke does to me, but I can't let him hurt Jadzia," she said, letting out a rush of breath. "I have to get her out of here, now."

The group looked at each other uncomfortably. "The Duke is without honor," Worf said, clearly appalled.

"We already knew that, Worf," Julian said. "How can we possibly get Jadzia out? She's the star of the show. The Duke has Weyoun guarding her dressing room."

"There's nothing we can do," Elim said, his eyes hard with tragic acceptance. "The Duke brought in a veritable army for the show. We are followed as long as we're anywhere near Jadzia, and the exits are all guarded."

Nerys looked around, feeling frantic. "There has to be a way." She glanced up, and the kernel of a plan began forming in her mind. "Wait," she said, looking back at the rest. "What if we get her out in the middle of the show? A scene break or something."

Nog looked shocked. "It would spoil the show."

"Forget the show," Nerys hissed at him. "We have to save her life."

"A sneak attack would be best," Worf said, seemingly lost in thought.

"There's no way in," Elim said, looking helpless.

"Are you so sure of that?" she said, glancing up.

They stared at her for a second and then looked up and noticed what she had.

"You can't be serious," Elim said.

"I'm absolutely serious," she said, looking at the great stylized elephant suite. Its stairs leading up to the top were blocked off, but the windows still looked open. If she could climb it, she could get in.

"You'd be seen once you were inside," Julian said.

"Not necessarily," Nerys said. "I need a disguise."

"The suit you wore the first time!" Nog said, brightening up. "I still have it!" Nog turned to the others. "You two get Worf back. The show will be starting in a half hour. I'll get Nerys suited up.

In a flurry of running, the two of them made it back to the apartments. Except for shoes, Nog had everything needed to disguise Nerys' red hair. She pondered cutting it short once more as she braided it tightly and crammed it up into the hat. She wished she had some stage makeup to hand so she could give her face some more masculine edges and disguise her features but this would have to do. A guest wandering backstage would still raise eyebrows, but at least she wouldn't be immediately recognized. And she could pretend to be lost. But she didn't need much time.

"Am I completely crazy, Nog?" she asked as she slipped into the long black tailcoat.

"No," he said, his enthusiastic demeanor growing abruptly serious. "You love her. And she loves you. It's as obvious as daylight. I may drink too much and play around to excess, but I can see the truth between you. I think you're very brave for saving her." he looked suddenly ill. "I knew the Duke was unpleasant, but I had no idea he was such a violent sadist. I wish we could hand him over to the police."

"I doubt they'd do anything," she said, shaking her head.

"You're right." Nog took a breath. "You look great. Now let's get you to Jadzia."

Back at the Moulin Rouge main entrance, Nog made sure to make a scene, pretending to be drunk after a bout of pre-show drinking. His voice and chaotic laughter echoed off the buildings around them. The distraction allowed Nerys to scramble up the side of the stairs and clamber up into the elephant. She felt something rip in the suit somewhere, but kept going. A few strained exertions and she was up and climbing through the windows of the elephant. She checked over her disguise quickly and then dashed to the door.

It was locked.

"No, she whispered, turning and trying to come up with another way inside. Looking around at the pillows and decorative melange of the Moroccan-themed suite, she found herself rapidly running out of ideas.

Just then she heard a click behind her, and turned.

Nog's head peeked through the now open door leading into the Moulin Rouge. "Get in, quick!" he hissed at her. 

She dashed toward him and slipped through the door.

"The show's about to start," he said, whispering.

"That means Jadzia's heading to the stage," Nerys said. "I might be able to get her."

"Good luck," Nog said.

Nerys wished she had it. Distantly she heard the orchestra crescendo into life. 

The show was starting.

And Nerys had one chance to save Jadzia.


	21. Hindi Sad Diamonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero sneaks backstage.

A distant part of Nerys wished she could see the show from the audience level, just to appreciate the work her friends put into bringing it to life. Elim's costumes, Miles' sets: the whole thing was going to live up to its name many times over. The Duke's investment imbued the show with a lavish decadence Quark would never have managed otherwise. She thought back to the micro-budget version of  _ Spectacular Spectacular _ she had witnessed in Nog's apartment with a nun singing a song about hills in front of a hastily-painted backdrop and sparking lights that barely worked.

The roar of the orchestra grew, rumbling all around her as she made her way towards the backstage area, the thunder of the bass instruments thumping in her chest like an echo of her own tense breathing. The hallways were mostly empty, save for--

She pulled herself into a hidden recess as the shadow of Weyoun passed by. The anonymous guards would not notice her, but Weyoun definitely would, disguise or no. She slowed her breathing as he carried on, and slipped out, making her way to the nearest backstage door. If Weyoun was walking about, then Jadzia was no doubt heading on stage now. Nerys would have to wait to catch her at the next scene change.

The cast were singing the opening number on stage, and Nerys could see the occasional flash of glitter or silk flags through the clutter of the backstage area. People ran this way and that amid the set pieces stored offstage, most of them crew. The opening number was massive and required almost the entire cast, so at least the backstage area wasn't as crowded as it normally would be.

A clear strong female voice rang out in the distance, buoyed by the soaring orchestra. That was Jadzia's entrance as the Courtesan, Nerys thought, sadly. The moment when the visiting maharajah caught sight of her during his welcoming parade. She remembered the first time she had seen Jadzia, a moment that had been enhanced by stage magic of its own. The Duke had been there, waiting like a hunter in the grass, but Jadzia mistakenly danced with Nerys, not him. It had all started there, the soaring highs and crushing lows. Nerys wondered what would have happened if she had never met Jadzia, if the soon-to-be-actress had danced with the Duke, instead. Would he have been as much of a threat to her had his jealousy not been stoked by Nerys's affections? Would he have become dangerous nonetheless?

She shook her head, pulling herself behind a set piece as a man she didn't recognize walked by. The Duke was brutal. He would have found excuses to hurt Jadzia regardless: a misinterpreted look, a minor mistake. Men like him liked the opportunity to prove themselves, insecure creatures that they were. Nerys remembered the Duke's chilling words at Mistress Keiko's house, his words unspeakably vile, even coming from him. She put his sneering face from her memory and made her way through another door, slipping down a narrow hallway into Jadzia's dressing room, its door labeled with her name. The sound from the stage still reached this area, but it now had a far-off muffled quality, as though she was remembering the show, the lyrics playing over and over in her mind.

She was safe for the time being, so long as no one came to peek about in here. She just had to wait until Jadzia had a costume change, which was at the end of the first scene when the action moved to the Sitar Player. She would be here very soon. Nerys sat down and tried to think of what she would say. They wouldn't have much time. She would need to get her point across quickly. She looked at the door again, and her stomach sank. How would they get away? Weyoun was following Jadzia and would be watching just outside the door. Feeling suddenly trapped, she slipped out of the door and stepped into the shadows. She couldn't corner Jadzia in her dressing room. She would have to catch her on her way onstage. The orchestra fell into a discordant series of ominous chords and the audience erupted into applause at the conclusion of the opening number as the Maharajah claimed the Courtesan as his own. Jadzia was now on her way.

The backstage area flooded suddenly with dancers and singers, some hastily leaping into quick-changes, surrounded by crew-members, others moving off to the green room to await their next big scene. Nerys peered through the obscuring scaffolding, searching for Jadzia. All she could see were sequined outfits and shadows. And then Jadzia appeared, Weyoun clutching her arm while she argued with him. Nerys had to catch herself from dashing right out. So she held back, and listened.

"Do you mistrust the Duke?" Jadzia bit at Weyoun, who smiled amiably.

"Not at all. I mistrust you."

"I gave my word to the Duke. There is no need to nanny me. I have a show to do, and you are wasting my valuable time."

"Please, keep your voice down," Weyoun hissed as Worf's strong, noble voice began his opening monologue on stage, the orchestra quiet. Nerys couldn't help but admire his earnest delivery of the lines. The cast had teased Worf during rehearsals for being a stone statue, but Nerys could hear the noble passion in his voice. His history in opera and Shakespeare had given him a powerful stage presence that no one had expected. 

"We aren't close enough for the audience to hear us," Jadzia retorted, calling his bluff.

"I wonder if they are close enough to hear you scream," he said, deadly serious.

Nerys shifted uncomfortably as Weyoun's fingers dug further into Jadzia's arm. She wanted nothing more than to rush out and wrest her from his grip, but now was not the time. The Duke's men were everywhere, and they wouldn't get out alive if the ushers were alerted.

"May I at least change alone?" Jadzia asked, her tone frosty.

"I don't know," Weyoun said, his tone once again casual and light. "I might be able to offer some advice on your costume."

Jadzia moved so quickly, Nerys felt her breath catch in her throat. Throwing her entire weight behind the force of her arm, the actress drove her elbow into Weyoun's face. His nose crunched audibly, but the seconds after that, his insensate form falling limply to the floor, were deathly silent. Nerys took her chance and stepped out of her hiding place. Jadzia turned suddenly at the sound and paled.

"It's me," Nerys whispered. "We have to get out of here now."

Jadzia, obviously giddy with what she had just done, merely stared. Nerys smiled and nodded at Weyoun. "Nicely done, by the way. But he won't stay out for very long."

"I can't go," Jadzia finally said, her eyes suddenly wet with tears.

"The Duke is going to kill you," Nerys said, bluntly, trying not to come across as exaggerating the danger. "He came to see me. He's not just any rich client; he's a violent, horrible person who takes pleasure in inflicting suffering. You have to leave with me, now."

"He'll follow us," Jadzia said, looking suddenly ill. "All I can do is appease him."

"You don't understand. You won't live through what he has planned for you." Nerys felt tears of desperation blur her vision. "We have to leave now."

"Why did you come back?" Jadzia said, reaching to wipe away the tears that were smearing her makeup and stopping, clenching her fist in anger. "We had everything planned."

"I know, but the Duke came to me. He found me at the house where I work."

"I know," Jadzia said. "He can find us anywhere. Even if we crossed the ocean to America, he would come after us. He's not one to give up."

"But you'll die," Nerys said, resisting the urge to grab the folds of Jadzia's dress and plead on her hands and knees.

"There was a plan. I would have been safe. You have to leave now. I promise. Everything will be fine. I just have to make it to tonight. I promise. Please trust me."

"Are you really dying?" Nerys asked, her voice suddenly blunt and choked.

Jadzia's face contorted in sudden pain. "I had to keep it a secret."

The confirmation of the Duke's words cut like a sword through her breastbone. "From me?"

"The doctor says it's too advanced to treat. It would only have hurt you."

"But you told the Duke?" Nerys felt like she was falling backwards, unable to grab a handhold.

"I didn't tell him anything. He must have bribed the doctor. Please, understand, I wanted to tell you. But . . ."

"You're not afraid of the Duke killing you," Nerys said, feeling numb. "You have already accepted that you're going to die."

"No, that's not it!" Jadzia's voice was frantic. "Please understand. I can tell you everything after tonight. Everything you want to know."

Nerys drew back, unsure of what emotion she was currently feeling. Loss? Anguish? Betrayal? "How can you ask me to trust you when you kept that from me?"

"It's part of the plan," Jadzia said, feeling helpless. 

One of the dancers, Leeta, saw Jadzia and hissed, wide-eyed at her, "You've got to change! Your scene is coming up!"

"I have to go," Jadzia told Nerys. "I need you to trust me."

Nerys wanted desperately to trust her, but shock was slowly numbing her fingers. She looked down at the ground and fought back another argument. "I'll hide Weyoun," she said, coldly. "Somewhere he can't escape easily."

Jadzia gave her a look like she didn't really trust Nerys' seeming acceptance of the situation, but then she nodded and dashed into the dressing room.

While Nerys pulled Weyoun's weakly groaning body into a shadowed corner where she grabbed a length of spare rope and tied him to a post out of any obvious eyelines, she heard Worf and Nog onstage, the magical talking sitar entertaining the sitar player with ironic truths about life and love. And Nerys, for the first time, began to doubt that love was real at all.


	22. Finale (Come What May)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero comes face to face with fate.

Nerys couldn't decide if she wanted to stay or if she wanted to leave. But every time she considered leaving, she immediately talked herself out of it. Jadzia's life was in danger. Regardless of the broken trust between them, Nerys couldn't sit by and let Jadzia fall prey to the Duke's predations. She would save her, and then, Nerys wondered, they could go their separate ways. Not that she wanted that to happen, but surely Jadzia had no interest in staying with Nerys after how she'd acted.

Weyoun was no longer a problem, but there were more problems. The Duke was here, probably in the audience. And all the ushers were in his employ. Getting out would be difficult. If they could make it back into the Moulin Rouge itself, they could hide out in the elephant and escape that way, but the Duke would be looking for her. Her seemingly foolproof plan to liberate Jadzia now felt like a crumbling sand shape in her hands, grains falling away forever.

Not wanting to accost Jadzia again, Nerys found a place to perch up in the scaffolding of a set piece that wouldn't be used again. If she could wait out the show, she might be able to get Jadzia out during the curtain calls, using the confusion backstage to hide their escape, but she would need to act fast.

The tension of waiting ate at Nerys like the rush of a drug. She couldn't sit still. Everything ached. All she wanted to do was grab Jadzia and go. Waiting was agony. She tried to focus on what she could hear from the show, but it all sounded so choppy and disjointed. She found herself wondering if the chaotic, choppy nature was due to her script. She had been embroiled in the greatest love affair of her life at the time. Had she really written something worthwhile? Or was it garbage, just a loose assemblage of disjointed scenes for Julian to hang his wonderful music on? The self-destructive train of thought trailed off as she tried to focus. The final scene was approaching. Now was her time to act.

After waiting for so long, moving suddenly became a chore. Her legs tingled with sleep and her back ached from sitting hunched over on a narrow beam. The cast and crew barely noticed her as they all prepared for the final scene, getting into places. The Duke had very obviously had them change the finale, tacking on a hasty, shoddy ending in which the Courtesan chooses to stay with the Maharajah and the big final number, no longer a celebration of the lovers' escape, now a wedding celebration. Nerys didn't want to hear the final song, its joyous energy at odds with her own confusion and anger, but she needed to be in place to grab Jadzia as soon as the curtain dropped.

A different sort of movement caught the corner of her eye, and she turned to see castmembers hopping aside, looking confused. A figure strode through the assembled dancers.

It was Weyoun, his face bloodied and his eyes burning with a cold fire.

Not sure how he had escaped his bonds, Nerys met his eyes for a single terrifying second and then began looking about for a way out. There were none. Then she turned and met Jadzia's eyes, the other woman's expression suddenly sad and anguished. Jadzia mouthed, "Please don't," but as soon as she walked on stage, Nerys gave into panic and dashed after her . . .

. . . ending up onstage in front of the entire crowd, her eyes suddenly blinded by the lights.

"Oh ho! What's this?" Quark declared. Dressed as the Maharajah, he looked only momentarily stunned, his improv skills turning on as he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing.

Nerys froze, paralyzed by the crowd. She tried to focus her thoughts. As long as they were here, in the view of the public, Weyoun wouldn't risk killing her, but their safety was a ticking clock. The Duke was out there somewhere, and he could see them. She tilted her head forward, the brim of her top hat obscuring her face.

Jadzia, face wet with panicked tears affected a haughty laugh. "My dear Maharajah, it seems the Sitar Player is trying to spirit me away from you on our wedding night."

The audience laughed, but it was a tentative, nervous laugh. Nerys had spoiled the scene completely, and there was nowhere for it to go.

Quark took Jadzia's lead and turned to the audience. "He has shaved off his beard and affected a disguise, but I am not fooled by this deceit! My lady love has exposed him for what he is."

Nerys frantically tried to think of anything she could say. But her voice was so different from Worf's. There would be no way she could continue the charade. She looked at Jadzia and gave her a pleading, terrified look.

"Except," Jadzia said, turning to Quark and affecting a powerful pose, "you are fooled, for you are a fool!" The audience laughed at the cheap wordplay, and this helped the rest of the terrified cast fall into a new improvised rhythm. Jadzia spread her hands. "For I shall be fleeing with the Sitar Player, and you shall end your days alone!"

"No!" The cast froze, startled by the outburst from the audience. Nerys turned her head incrementally to pick out the Duke whose voice was unmistakable. The audience, apparently thinking the Duke was merely shocked at the plot twist, laughed good-naturedly.

Meeting Jadzia's eyes, Nerys mouthed, "secret song" and then gave her a knowing look, hoping they would be able to manage a seamless transition to the original planned ending which everyone had rehearsed far longer than the new, hastily tacked-on ending. At least this way, the two of them would be able to walk off stage together.

Jadzia looked suddenly sad, but nodded imperceptibly. Then she whirled on Quark and said, in a loud, commanding tone. "Beneath your very eyes, I have fallen in love with this Sitar Player, not you. We kept it a secret, reinforcing our love with a secret song that only we knew, singing it when we were apart to remind us of one another. It gave me the strength to endure, and now I say, for all to hear, that I reject your offer of marriage!"

The crowd gasped, and a few delighted ladies twittered.

Quark's eyes widened and Nerys could almost see his dreams of a long partnership with the Duke going up in flames within them. Her opinion of Quark was very low, but it still gave her a bit of a pang to see him heading towards impending failure. But a smile twitched the corner of his mouth and he took the cue. "A secret song! You dare to defy me! I doubt that this even exists. Sing it for me now, and prove that you are in love. For if I doubt your sincerity, I shall have your head!"

Nerys saw castmembers hastily rearranging themselves for the new finale as the orchestra members began frantically searching to see who still had the music for the original music.

Jadzia started, singing clear and strong, her words earnest and emotional. The lovers' secret song fell easily from her lips as though she had always intended to sing it. Nerys approached her, still terrified and angry, but she felt a swelling of something in her chest like a great egg eager to hatch. Despite everything, she loved Jadzia. She couldn't help it. Her verse was approaching. If she tried singing, the audience would know something was wrong. But she had no choice. She took a breath and opened her mouth, and Worf's clear baritone filled the stage. Hastily switching to lip-syncing, Nerys mouthed the words, looking just offstage to see Worf singing clearly, adding his voice to Nerys's impromptu performance. The choreography was simple, and Nerys had seen it many times, so she was able to muddle through the steps, climbing a grand staircase lined by ornate sculptures while the rest of the cast gathered on a number of platforms around the stage. Soon, their duet ended and the whole cast joined in, singing the final, rousing verse as Jadzia and Nerys reached the top step.

Nerys felt a sudden jolt of movement in her hands and looked at Jadzia's face. She had stopped singing and had gone pale. "What is it?" Nerys whispered, her words drowned out by the chorus.

Jadzia jerked and began coughing, shaking her head. 

Nerys led Jadzia through the door behind them. They were supposed to wait until the Maharajah's final speech, but Nerys couldn't wait. The platform was merely a ledge. Weyoun couldn't reach them here. Jadzia's coughing grew worse and worse, her breathing frantic and ragged. As the song ended, Jadzia fell into a faint and collapsed, limp, in Nerys' arms. Quark's voice filled the stage as he delivered the Maharajah's final speech, admitting defeat. The orchestra hit the final huge, booming chords, and then the curtain fell, enclosing them all in muted lamplight.

The applause from beyond the curtain crested like a wave as shouts and whistles joined the general clamour. But Nerys didn't care. "We need a doctor here!" she croaked out, holding Jadzia in her arms. The actress stirred slightly, came back to consciousness and looked up at Nerys with weak eyes, her pale face damp with cold sweat. Her makeup smeared, and her styled hair falling apart, she looked like a broken doll. Nerys felt something in her heart rip and she began sobbing, holding Jadzia against her chest. 

"I'm . . ." Jadzia said. "You have to trust me."

"What's there to trust?" Nerys asked, looking around frantically. She kicked the thin wood doors inward, snapping them from their simple hinges and called down the stairs. "I need a doctor here, now!"

Quark was the first to ascend the staircase, his breathing laboured from the activity. "Not now," he said, his tone that of his character, not a real person. Nerys felt a surge of rage at the man. He couldn't even pretend to care about her. He was probably still angry that the Duke would pull his investment away. 

"She needs help," Nerys bit out at him.

He shook his head, his expression sad. "There's nothing we can do. We knew this was coming."

Nerys felt a fresh stab of anger at yet another person who was not her who had known of Jadzia's illness.

"Nerys . . ." Jadzia's voice was whispery and thin, her voice weak as a baby bird's.

She looked down at Jadzia, seeing something leaving Jadzia's eyes. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you. I'm so sorry." The words grew choked and sounded suddenly inadequate.

"Please . . . trust me . . ." Jadzia flinched and seemed to grow weaker. "I love . . . I love . . ." And then she felt completely limp.

Nerys blinked, stunned by the suddenness of it. Just an hour earlier, she had been strong enough to knock Weyoun out. What had happened? What kind of illness was this? She shook Jadzia, tears flowing freely. "Wake up! Please!"

Quark's hand settled on her shoulder. "There's nothing we can do for her," he said. "She's gone."

The words sent Nerys into a panic. "No! She's just unconscious! She can come back!" She shook Jadzia's still form again. "Wake up!"

"Please," Quark said, his voice more genuinely sad now.

Nerys glared at him, wishing she could punch him down the staircase. But then she noticed something in his eyes, something she couldn't identify. "You wanted this to happen."

"I knew she was dying," he corrected. "I also knew what kind of monster the Duke is. I would never wish death to any of my girls, but it's better that she died now rather than in the Duke's bed."

Nerys very nearly vomited in that instant, horrified by the sheer insanity of everything. And then she felt a jolt of something hotter than rage. "The Duke," she said. "He's still here, isn't he?"

Quark looked taken aback. "Of course."

Nerys held Jadzia toward Quark. "Look after her. I have something to do."

"Please don't do anything--"

"I'll do what I like," she said, and dashed down the stairs, nearly falling headfirst on multiple occasions. The now-exiting crowd turned suddenly as she burst through the curtain and ran down into the audience. The Duke, no longer sitting, was standing by the doors, as though waiting for her.

"I knew you'd come back," he said to her, his voice poisonous.

"Jadzia's dead," Nerys bit at him.

The Duke's face faltered. "You're lying."

"I'm not. You can go see her yourself."

"This is a tedious trick, my dear," he said.

"It's no trick."

Just then, someone behind the curtain screamed and several others began to wail. The Duke looked up and strode past Nerys, nearly knocking her down as he went. Nerys followed, numb to everything except the Duke. She couldn't expend any emotion on Jadzia's death. Not yet. She needed to see the Duke lose his prize. She needed to see him fail. She wanted him to suffer in any way that he could. 

He ordered the curtain drawn up and found the cast gathered around the figure at the top of the stairs, some crying, some blank with shock.

"She's faking it, you fools," the Duke barked at the cast.

"No," Quark said, descending the stairs. "She's dead. Her illness took her. The stress of the performance weakened her."

The Duke looked aghast. "You expect me to believe this?"

Quark leaned forward and met the Duke's eyes. "Go look yourself."

"I was going to merely ruin the show," the Duke growled at Quark, "but now, I think I'm going to ruin you. Your entire livelihood is going to go up in flames. This pathetic excuse for a brothel is going to fail, and all of you are going to be on the streets begging for food."

"Better begging on the streets than servicing you," Nerys said, getting right up in the Duke's face, her expression steel, her limbs rigid with rage and shock.

The Duke raised a hand to strike Nerys and she held her ground, ready to feel the hit, if only to feel anything. But a large hand stopped the fist and Worf sent his other fist into the Duke's stomach, doubling him over, gasping. Nerys met Worf's handsome face and the two nodded in solidarity to one another. "Thank you," she said, and then took a step forward and kicked Duke Dukat into the now-empty orchestra pit. He fell in a clatter of music stands and chairs.

"My dear," came another voice and Nerys turned to see Elim, approaching her, looking distraught but resolute. "I owe you an apology. For ever doubting you."

Nerys didn't feel like replying. She was too angry and devastated to form coherent thoughts. She was in survival mode. She wanted to look at the body at the top of the staircase set, but couldn't bring herself to do it. 

The Duke staggered out of the orchestra pit, his eyes murderous. There was a flash of movement by the exits, but Nerys kept her eyes on the Duke, ready for whatever he wanted to do to her.

"I'm going to kill you, you evil _bitch_ ," he snarled at Nerys.

Nerys was about to respond, when she heard a familiar woman's voice. "That's him!"

Everyone looked up and Nerys saw Mistress Keiko standing just inside the door accompanied by the constable Nerys had first met upon arriving in Paris. Nerys' employer looked flushed and terrified, but she had a fierce strength to her that Nerys had not noticed before. The Duke whirled suddenly, his eyes blazing.

The constable approached cautiously. "There's no need to get violent," he said to the Duke, his tone gentle.

"You can't arrest me," the Duke said. "I'm Duke Dukat."

"And you're also a murderer," the constable said, his tone still calm.

"She died of an illness!" the Duke said, pointing behind him. "I had nothing to do with that."

"Are you aware," the constable began, "that there were a number of unexplained murders of prostitutes in England ten or so years back?"

"My family has French roots," the Duke bit back. "This is preposterous."

"But you were in England ten years ago," the constable said, casually.

"What of it?"

"I'm from England myself," the constable said. And I came here, hoping to follow a trail I thought had gone cold." The constable smiled and raised a hand. "Tell me, does your cane have a concealed sword within it?"

"This is a poor excuse for a ploy," the Duke said, growing more confident. "I have connections that reach up to the royalty of three nations. Your pathetic attempt to frame me is bound to fail."

"What was it you called yourself in those days?" the constable continued. "Jack of Monroth? I believe the newspapers designated you as Jack the Ripper, if I recall. Quite a sensational name."

The Duke grew twitchy with growing rage. "You know nothing."

Worf stepped forward and grabbed the Duke's cane from him before he could react. Before the Duke could say anything, Worf tossed the cane to the constable.

"Thank you, sir," the constable said.

"This proves nothing!" the Duke shouted. "Such trinkets are common."

"Except we have eyewitness accounts," the constable said. "But we couldn't do anything in England since your allies were too powerful. But this is Paris. You have no power here. Probably why you were willing to invest so much money in this place. You were desperate for capital."

"I have more power than you can ever imagine," the Duke said, striding with as much dignity as he could manage off the stage and toward the doors. In the past, he walked as though he owned everything. Now, he walked as though waiting for a hammer to fall.

Once he reached the door, two burly officers met him. The Duke tried to fight, but very soon, he was being dragged off, screaming the whole way.

Nerys felt suddenly exhausted, ready to collapse on the spot, but she managed to make her way to Keiko and fall into a grateful hug. "Thank you," she said, her voice muffled by the other woman's elaborate dress.

Quark's voice was gentle behind her. "You should take her somewhere she can rest."

"I agree," Keiko replied.

Nerys wanted to pull away, to look at Jadzia one last time, but she was completely devoid of energy, and so all she could do was sob into the other woman's dress as she was led away from Jadzia and away from the Moulin Rouge.

* * *

Epilogue - Lady Marmalade

Paris 1900

Duke Dukat, alias Jack of Monroth, alias Jack the Ripper was imprisoned for life after the fateful performance of _Spectacular Spectacular_. A few months later, he was killed while trying to escape. The papers said it was a fellow prisoner, but few believed that. Without his funding, the Moulin Rouge quickly fell into crippling debt once more and soon closed down, scattering its inhabitants to the four winds.

Kira Nerys stayed in her apartment for the following eighteen months, processing the loss of Jadzia and getting to the point where she could even begin to talk about it with herself. Her decision to write the whole thing down allowed her to get some closure, but she still felt empty. Her job with Mistress Keiko had kept her alive, and the two women had developed a mutual respect that Nerys liked as it kept her grounded. But she now needed to decide where to go next. It was late winter and Paris was white with snow. This was not the time to consider moving on. This was the time to stay and plan for the future.

But what future?

She pulled the final page from her typewriter, thinking that she still needed to add another chapter, focusing on the time she had had to get over Jadzia's death. But she was tired, and would leave that for tomorrow. Writing the story of Jadzia and the Moulin Rouge had given her a unique purpose these past weeks, and had kept her mind off the future.

She poured herself a cup of tea and settled into a rickety chair, but no sooner had she gotten comfortable than there was a knock at the door.

She sighed, set her tea down, and rose, preparing to face the landlord who, after raising the rent for the winter months, had found Nerys' payments to be lacking as of late.

She opened the door and felt her face go completely blank. Her hands shook as she kept a grip on the door. Her knees were threatening to squish into jelly beneath her. The two faces she met were as unexpected as a winged horse flying through her window at that moment. Nerys took a steadying breath and looked at the dark-haired woman on the left, feeling tears filling her eyes. "It's you."

Jadzia Dax smiled, her beaming face quickly dissolving into sobs as she moved forward and swept Nerys into a tight embrace, the shocking solidity heightening Nerys' panic. She was dreaming, she told herself, even when the sheer unexplainable joy of holding Jadzia in her arms overwhelmed her like a storm front.

They cried for what seemed like hours before the other individual spoke up, his voice tentative. "May we come in?"

"Yes, Quark," Nerys said, not looking at him. She fixated on Jadzia's face as though looking away would cause her to vanish back into her dreams where she lived. 

Quark stepped inside, looked around, and then said, "This is bigger than my place."

"I wanted to tell you," Jadzia began, her makeup a smudged disaster over a joyously happy face.

"Tell me what?" Nerys said, grinning like an idiot. "What is going on?"

Jadzia turned to Quark. "You start."

Quark removed his hat and gave them a sheepish look as he sat on the bed. "I knew the Duke was dangerous," he began, sounding sad. "And I knew that he wanted Jadzia for his own. Not a marriage. But an exclusive contract. He had been hounding me for months. I got him to agree to fund _Spectacular Spectacular_ , but he was hesitant to sign the contract officially."

Jadzia spoke up, her voice stronger now, though still thick with emotion. "The Duke has a reputation among . . . people like me. But we needed his money." Jadzia looked suddenly sad. "I was willing to give up everything to help Quark."

Quark met Nerys' eyes. "I know what you think of me. And believe me, a great deal of it is the same as what I think of myself. But I do have a soul. I suggested Jadzia feign illness during a performance so we might have some options later on."

"The fall was staged?" Nerys asked, shocked.

"I opted for a more dramatic visual than simply not showing up," Jadzia said, giving Quark an apologetic look. "I needed his reaction to be genuine."

"And when we were together? You collapsed into my arms. I was terrified."

Jadzia smiled. "That was simply because I was tired, and stressed, and wearing a rather extreme corset."

"That's why you didn't cough when we were together," Nerys said. "I didn't believe you when you'd said you were sick."

"We were able to use the excuse of illness to get Jadzia out of sleeping with the Duke once," Quark said, "but he would soon grow wise to what was happening." Quark winced. "After he attacked her in the Gothic Tower, we realized we needed to take more drastic measures."

"You bribed the doctor," Nerys said, eyes widening, "so he would pass on false information to the Duke."

Quark nodded, grimly. "Lucky doctor got bribed twice."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Nerys suddenly said.

Jadzia's face fell. "I needed the Duke to believe that I was dead. And that meant getting everyone to believe it."

Quark sounded quiet and guilty when he spoke next. "Jadzia took an herbal draught in her dressing room which slowed her heart-rate and gave her a cold sweat. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't listen. But it kicked in at the end of the show." He turned to Jadzia. "It could have killed you."

"But it didn't," she said. Turning to Nerys, she clasped her hands. "I am so very sorry for what you went through. But the Duke would have destroyed everyone to get to me. He might have tortured people for information. I didn't know what he was capable of, then, but I suspected. No one could know about my plan."

"You should have trusted me," Nerys said.

"Darling," Jadzia said, the word sending electric thrills up her spine, "you're a terrible actress."

Nerys smiled and then said, "It's been eighteen months."

Jadzia nodded. "I went to America to hide from the Duke. I figured he'd bribe his way to freedom and come after me. I didn't want to endanger you. I worked as an actress in Boston in a few shows. As soon as I heard what happened to the Duke, I got away at the first opportunity and came back to you."

Nerys was completely silent. "You still lied to me."

"Yes," Jadzia said, pained. "And I wish I could have thought this out better, but you were in terrible danger. The Duke kept threatening to have you killed. I couldn't think straight."

"Why not?"

"Why do you think?" Jadzia said, smiling. "I was in love with a ridiculous hot-headed writer."

"Was?" Nerys said, raising an eyebrow. "As in no longer?"

"That's up to you," Jadzia said. "If you wish never to see me again, then I will leave right now and keep my love for you to myself."

Nerys' eyes widened in panic. "Please don't leave." She squeezed Jadzia's hands and then pulled them up to her lips and kissed them. "I can't lose you again."

"Well I can't promise not to leave, but I can ask you a question." Jadzia shifted in her seat and met Nerys' eyes, open and completely honest, free of her actress' gifts. This was Jadzia's soul, bared and shining for Nerys to take. "I am returning to Boston in two weeks. Would you like to come with me?"

Nerys felt an explosion of warmth in her chest. "Go with you to America?"

Jadzia nodded.

"Yes! I'll go with you!"

The two embraced, Nerys' head spinning with the disorienting ninety degree angle her life had taken, dumping her from a mouldy apartment overlooking the ruins of a failed bordello into a ship sailing off into the horizon, Jadzia Dax at her side.

"I'm glad," Quark said, smiling. "You can have my ticket."

"You're staying here?" Nerys asked.

"I can't leave Paris. America is too new. It's not my kind of city. This is where I belong."

"I . . . I don't know what to say," Nerys said, feeling light as a cloud.

"You've said all you need to," Jadzia said.

"I haven't said nearly enough," Nerys said, hugging Jadzia again.

"I'll never leave you," Jadzia promised into Nerys' hair.

"Never," Nerys replied, "Come what may?"

"Come what may," Jadzia agreed.

And then Nerys kissed Jadzia, glowing with hope for a future she was no longer terrified to face.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this ridiculous drivel! I don't really care about getting comments, but it's nice that maybe some folks out there can read this and enjoy it. 
> 
> I took a LOT of artistic license with the end, so feel free to blame me for every ridiculous change. Dukat became a much more dangerous and scary villain than the film's Duke, so he needed a more complete ending. Also, I do not apologize for the epilogue. That was my entire reason for writing this, because there's enough tragedy in the world.
> 
> For those of you still in lockdown or facing rough times as a result of this terrible pandemic, please don't lose hope. Stay safe as much as you can. And stay positive, if you can. It's okay to feel scared and overwhelmed. That's why fanfic exists. <3


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